


Forever is a Lie

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gakuen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: Arthur is a rough soul who is used to fighting for his place in the world and wears distrust like armor. So when he catches the interest of an upperclassman, someone who doesn't fear him, someone who finds him more interesting than scary, he finds there are things in the world worth losing to. Gakuen AU, punk!Arthur/senior!Kiku





	Forever is a Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is written for the asakikusecretsanta 2k18 event for skillerthebean2000 on tumblr. I took their prompt of a punk Arthur dating a good student Kiku and wrote this. I hope you can enjoy it! Thank you for reading!

It creates a clean white line in the sky, like God took a piece of chalk and drew a line between heaven and Earth. Arthur watches the plane lazily cross that blue expanse, wondering about the people up there. Humans are strange, he thinks, all these self contained lives and personalities, constantly passing each other. And yet we’re all so focused inwardly, caring about the stories we star in then the ones we stand next to. It makes Arthur want to smoke, but his cigarettes are back in class and his lip is cut anyway. He thinks to himself he’s not really one to judge, because he’s just as guilty. Even now, this introspection may just be a personal show of how enlightened he believed himself to be. A way to prove to himself, and whatever audience he may have, that he was someone who stepped back from the world and drank it in deep. But Christ, doesn’t everyone do that from time to time? He blinks.

God, this world was obnoxious.

“I can’t find _anything_ here.” Francis clicks his tongue beside him. He continues to rummage through the drawers of the nurse’s desk, shoving aside items and making a racket with his frantic search. Arthur looks to him. His usually gorgeous blond hair is a mess and his tie is askew. Francis wasn’t a good fighter, but he has to respect the fact how long he had held up. They’re holed up in the infirmary, half glad the nurse was gone. Arthur’s fists are aching and his cheek feels tender. At the very least, he feels some form of fulfillment. He certainly feels like he made some kind of point, as flimsy and cheap as it is.

“You didn’t have to get involved.” Arthur points out. Francis looks up at him, shaking curls from his face.

“And what? See them beat you to a pulp? Even I have a conscious.”

“I wouldn’t have lost.”

“You would have. And you would have liked it.”

Arthur glares at him. Did he always have to cut so deep?

“I can patch up myself.” Arthur spits out. Francis slams the drawer shut and reaches up to the cupboards.

“You’d bleed everywhere. Besides, what was it _now_? Can’t you guys go a day without being at each other’s necks?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything. He knew in the end it didn’t matter anyway. Instead he looks down to his hands. There are blisters on his knuckles and bruises forming on the insides of his palms. He’s hoping when he goes home tonight, no one will be there. It’s easier to make dinner with wounded hands if it’s just for one person. He doesn’t have to worry about questions because there was never concern in the first place.

“I thought you’d know your way around here better.” Arthur comments, “Seeing how many girls you bring here.”

Francis snorts and it makes Arthur smile. Francis is about to say something, but then the door slides open and they both freeze.

It’s not a beautiful moment. It’s cute, but not beautiful. What Arthur’s first thought is that they’d been caught. That they’d be questioned and that was just a whole headache he didn’t want to deal with. His second thought was how he felt like he was being stared at so hard that this person could look right through him.

The people who stood there were two other students like them. In the background was a brunette nursing a cut hand. Leading in the front was a serious looking young man with dark hair. Arthur didn’t like his eyes. They were entirely too focused on him. While Arthur was hoping they’d get past this with the usual passive indifference given by other students he can already tell this one is too invested.

“What’s going on here? Where’s the nurse?” He asks. Francis steps in the line of sight, laughing nervously.

“He stepped out.” He explained. God, this student was short, Arthur noticed, “My friend here fell, I was just looking for bandages.”

Arthur looks down at the student’s shoes. A third year? Christ, this was going to be hell. The student blinked for a bit, and then side stepped Francis. He looks through the supplies in the nurse’s desks before producing the much needed bandages. He smiles politely.

“He has an odd system around here, I know. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Francis thanks him, and the upperclassman goes on to help his friend. Arthur was only half aware of Francis bandaging up his hands as his attention was mostly on the black haired senior. He didn’t like the fact that he kept glancing over at him. His friend was apologizing about some incident with the scissors and the senior was telling him it was ok. Arthur glanced back at Francis and met his gaze. It was intense and its message was clear: _Don’t start anything._

Arthur doesn’t cause trouble for trouble’s sake. He’s not bored. He’s just running from some kind of inward demon and the only thing that made him feel stable was to make his actual life unstable. He’s a person who’s been beaten down so many times that he feels like he needs to protect what last shard of pride he has. He’s overly sensitive. He’s on guard. So with even a vague threat like this, he puts his defenses up.

(Admittedly, he’s not too smart.)

“Can I help you with something?” He asks out loud, and across from him Francis scrunches up his face, sighing in frustration. The senior looks over at him, an eyebrow only slightly raised.

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you needed something. You keep looking at me.”

Francis is sending him a death glare, a wordless threat to _knock it off_ , but Arthur’s never been afraid of him so he sees no reason to listen to him now. In this moment, Arthur notices just how dark the student’s eyes are, unbearably unreadable. It makes him think of obsidian, in how dark it is and how you could see your own reflection in its surface. He remains unshaken.

The student blinks, as if Arthur had only asked about the weather.

“Fighting is prohibited.” He tells him flatly. Arthur feels something ignite in his chest, part satisfaction and part bloated ego. He likes the chances he gets to prove himself. He likes throwing around his weight like it meant something. Arthur tilts his head back, staring down his nose at him. He grins.

“Thought we told you; I fell.”

“On your fists?”

Arthur feels Francis tighten the bandages, and it makes his knuckles ache more. He’s trying to get his attention. Arthur ignores him.

“What’s it to you? Want to rat me out to a teacher?”

“ _Arthur-_!” Francis hisses. Arthur is riding a high right now, a confident show of pride. As if he’d be scared of some senior. (To him, it is the perfect display of intimidation and of course it’s a fool’s gamble, but once again; he’s not too smart.) He stares down the senior and their gazes are locked for a long time, those black, black eyes boring into his. But then he looks down, back to his friend’s hand, and Arthur feels a cheap sense of satisfaction at this. He expects him to keep quiet then, as Arthur thought he rightfully should.

Then, he speaks.

“So, it’s Arthur then.” He says, his voice frustratingly steady. Arthur glares. If it was meant to be some kind of threat, he’s soon side-swept again.

“Are you being bullied?”

Arthur stops.

The infirmary is very quiet then.

Arthur is very used to insults. His day always starts with one, and he usually goes to bed throwing them at himself, in the throes of silence and self-loathing, in the precarious situation of being left alone with his own thoughts. Arthur is also used to fighting, in a constant struggle of keeping himself safe, in making himself enough so as to survive. Arthur is always on edge, and protected because that is how the world raised him and that’s how he knows it will always be. When Arthur is insulted he retaliates, and when Arthur is hit, he hits back. He’s not without any counterattack. He’s always on guard. He’s never taken by surprise.

Until this.

He’s been pulled aside by teachers before, and always ends up dismissed. Trouble child. Delinquent. No hope for him at all. He needed the assumptions people made of him, because it helped him build his image. This is what the world saw of him. The world was easier to mirror what it said of him. But this was strange, different, he didn’t know how to model himself to this.

Bullied.

This made him sound like a victim. This made him sound sympathetic.

This made him sound understood.

Arthur grits his teeth. He gets up, and Francis is telling him to stop. Arthur storms across the room, and stands in front of the senior. He regards him cooly, and it aggravates Arthur more how he doesn’t even flinch.

“Are you calling me weak?” He asks, his voice enraged. The student’s friend is tensed up then, looking nervously between the two of them. The upperclassman and him are matched again, and he looks up at him, serene. He tilts his head.

“Was I right?”

“Look, you-!”

“Kiku.”

Arthur stops. It’s harder to be angry when the other party won’t join in. His tone is even and neutral. Arthur is trying to be mad but he’s just baffling.

“What?”

“My name is Kiku.”

The name sits there between them and Arthur doesn’t know what to do with it. Kiku. Looking at him, he can’t help but think how well it suited him. Kiku smiles then, and it is pleasing.

“If you’re being bullied,” He tells him calmly, “Come look for me.”

“What?”

Those eyes look warm, but not conceited. His smile is polite, but not fake. He looks kind but it’s lacking something. It’s not the concern, but it’s also not the execution of it. Instead, there seems to be curiosity instilled there, rather than a mature, and self-sacrificing nature. Kiku leans forward, and instinctually Arthur steps back. He smiles wider then, making the edges of his eyes crinkle. It reminds Arthur of a fox.

“I said, if you’re being bullied, come look for me.” He says again, lightly, “Because you look like you need help.”  

Arthur burns.

“You-!”

But he’s grabbed roughly then, by his shoulders. He’s being pushed forward, and Arthur’s feet are struggling to keep balance as he’s shoved towards the door. Behind him, he can hear Francis’ voice, that classic way it runs when he’s begging and scared.

“I’m sorry about him, senpai! He’s a rebellious one, you know how it is! We’re done here, so if you’ll excuse us!”

“Francis-!”

“ _Shut up_ .” Francis hisses in his ear. “Just _shut up_ , already.”

Arthur is successfully shoved out the door, but before Francis can shut it, he gets one last look of Kiku. He’s expecting him to look triumphant, smug, an irritatingly haughty look worn when someone has won. He finds none of this. Instead Kiku is also watching him, and he’s not smiling. He’s not even angry. His face is serious, earnest. He glares at Arthur with a strange softness.

Daring him.

Francis shuts the door.

He turns around, glaring daggers at Arthur.

“You, _idiot!_ ” He whispers fiercely, “Are you trying to get us caught?! Picking a fight with a senior? Really?!”

For a moment, Arthur is speechless. He’s trying to catch himself back with this moment. He feels like he’s left part of himself back there, and it confuses him. A part of him wants to rush back in and get it, to continue whatever that was. He fights against it, however, and pouts at Francis.

“He started it.”

“He did not!” Francis sighs dramatically, and looks up at the ceiling, “Look. Forget it. Let’s head back.”

“To class?”

Francis scoffs. He slides his eyes back over to Arthur, and the moment makes Arthur feel back home, where he was meant to be. Yes. This is where he’s meant to be. He grins. They walk down the hallway together, falling in line. Arthur looks down at his fists, makes a snide comment about Francis’ work, and Francis kicks at his knees in return, making him trip up. They don’t go back to class, of course. Arthur longs for a smoke, and it’s business as usual.

“...He was nice, though.” Francis pipes up. Arthur frowns.

“Who?”

“That senior. He offered to help you.”

It feels like someone is strangling Arthur’s heart. He grimaces.

“He was just picking a fight.” Arthur sneers.

He doesn’t dwell on it any more. He won’t let himself. Arthur is a hopeless troublemaker and the world is a cruel place, and the only things meant to help him were the adult vices handed to him. What a laughable thing, to call that helping. What could he do? More importantly, what did he want? Arthur looks out the window, and the sky is so blue and so vast and so blindingly bright.

We pass each other by, absorbed within our own lives, too busy thinking we are the stars of our own stories then to worry about those around us. Arthur doesn’t believe anyone would ever step out of their own sphere of self-concentration to ask about another without some ulterior motive. Maybe he wanted to feel good about himself. Maybe he wanted to feel superior. If that was the case, Arthur wanted nothing to do with it.

If he really wanted nothing, that would truly be a beautiful thing.

However, as much as he’d like to, Arthur does not believe in beautiful things.

* * *

Arthur didn’t start out as a terror.

That’s not to say he’s always been a saint. That’s also not to say that he hasn’t always been insufferable in some way or another. Instead, it should be clarified that Arthur hasn’t always picked fights before. He grew up normally enough, carrying with him a short temper but a sharp wit, and while he stayed in line and respected authority, things changed. It’d be nice to think that life singled him out and decided to beat it out of him, but Arthur knows better. Life doesn’t pick and choose. He’s not anything special, so the hand dealt to him wasn’t intentional. It was just what it was, simply a sequence of events and his own reaction.

His parents kept making excuses. Kept picking fights. Loved to make scathing remarks on the other in each other’s presence. One time his father, a normally mousy and quiet man, punched the wall near his mother’s head. And it was that built up anger, the passiveness of it, that finally lead to the explosion, was what forced them apart. His house is very quiet now. It followed him to school; he soon, also, became very, very quiet.

So when people took issue with him (similarly bored, trying to assert authority by hurting the weak) Arthur decided that passivity was not his flavor, like it had been his parents’. That there was no point in eating up one’s hatred until it poisoned your insides. If it was all going to explode, then he’d rather it be done then and there then to let it stew.

They might have thrown the first punch, but Arthur always made sure to give the last.

* * *

Of course Arthur doesn’t go to see that senior student.

It was a stupid thing when he heard it and it was a stupid thing when he considered it. Arthur was quick to write off any help, and this guy wasn’t any different. Oh, of course, he’d think about it. It would be very hard to not think about him. Arthur lead a very painful but monotonous life, and so any bizarre occurrence naturally stood out. But his mind only wandered as far as wondering what his deal was and what kind of idiot he could be. He’d feel insulted if it went any further then that, so he never let it. And what a laughable thing, to go see him. Arthur had better things to worry about. A week passes like this, without action or confrontation.

However, Francis, a glutton for gossip and Arthur’s irritation, never let it go.

“See? There. He’s right there.”

Arthur blew out the smoke he had been holding in. A cigarette dangles between his fingers. “Who?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

“That senior. The black haired one.”

Arthur slides his eyes over to where Francis was pointing. They’re behind the building right now, behind the cover of some trees, and across the school yard, where everyone was filing away, heading home, was him. He was hard to spot in that sea of blue blazers, and sandwiched between his taller friends, but then he saw him. God, he was so damn short.

“So?”

“He’s looking at you.”

True, he was standing stock still as his friends talked amongst themselves, and he was staring in their direction. But Arthur scoffs.

“He is not.”

“He _is_.”

“No one can see us here.”

“He can probably see you.”

Arthur takes another long drag. It fills his chest, toxic and spiced. Arthur’s in a good mood and likes telling Francis he’s wrong, so he doesn’t let any of it be true. When he breathes out, the smoke balloons out, filling the air between them. Francis winces.

“What, you think he’ll rat us out to a teacher?”

Francis frowns, giving him a tired look. He’s pretty today, with half his hair tied up, and Arthur wonders if he was supposed to see a girl this afternoon. He’s also smoking, and he does it with the grace of a model, holding the cigarette with his lithe fingers like it was an accessory.

“Did you ever go talk to him?”

“What? God, no.” Arthur almost laughs. “Why the hell would I?”

He thinks it’s weird for Francis to get involved with him like this. Usually they kept a safe distance and a quiet understanding of the boundaries. Maybe he was just bored. Arthur leans back, and he keeps his gaze level on Kiku. He’s too far away to really get an idea of his expression, but his stance is confident, cautious. Francis says nothing for a moment, and they sit there, letting Arthur’s answer hang in the air. Francis sighs heavily.

“I’m pretty sure,” Francis says half-heartedly. “He can see you.”

Arthur looks down, without thinking. He says nothing.

Thoughts dance in his mind about what someone would want with him if not to hurt him, if only from a first meeting, and he thinks it’s all strange. He sort of wants to go over and confront him. He thinks better of it, and takes in another deep breath.

It stings.

When he gets the courage to look back up again, he’s gone.

* * *

There are not a lot of places Arthur likes about his school, but he does like the quiet of the infirmary.

The nurse might not know it, but Arthur has a vague idea of his schedule. He’s usually out during second period, wandering the school during lunch, and annoyingly persistent in his questions near the end of the day. As a result, Arthur has built his time around that. Whenever Yao trips him up by changing schedule, Arthur already has a bevy of excuses to pick from.

“My stomach hurts.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I’m feeling faint.”

And some of them were true, and some of them were lies. Yao usually received them with a quirk of the eyebrow and a final sigh, waving him to one of the beds. The real truth of it is, is that Arthur doesn’t like being in class because he’s built up a reputation and his classmates like to display that same passive hatred that he’s so sick of. Also, that’s exactly where his enemies go to look for him first, and Arthur thinks it would be wrong to drag any of his other peers into his drama.

It’s lunch time. Arthur is lying down on one of the infirmary beds again, hands behind his head, watching the sky out the window. He has the curtains drawn so nobody passing by can see him. He can hear students running down the halls, or laughing and talking. Arthur doesn’t eat lunch usually. He’s just not hungry. After awhile food just looked like a necessity then a treat.

His mind is half-turned off, and what is there is mindlessly filtering through things that had happened and boredom. He would have liked to invite Francis, but he’d spotted him earlier taking an underclassman up to the third floor, and decided to leave him be.

Arthur starts to drift off, wondering (hoping), he’ll be tired enough to sleep through the next period. Halfway between sleep and wakefulness, he hears the door to the infirmary open. He ignores it. Maybe it was some student looking for the nurse. Maybe, it _was_ the nurse.

He jumps when the curtain is drawn. He turns around, on the defense, but feels his heart stop when he sees him.

That upperclassman. Kiku? Was his name Kiku? He’s looking down at Arthur without emotion, his black bangs framing his eyes. The ceiling lights frame him like a halo, and casts a shadow over a him.

“So, I was right.” He says to himself. “You do come here all the time.”

Arthur has to blink away the sleep to fully catch up with the situation. At first, he thinks he might be dreaming, but he’s still watching him, so Arthur just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“The hell?” He says, squinting at the fluorescent lights above, “You again?”

Arthur likes following his impulses and the first one is being annoyed that his nap was interrupted. The second is seeing this guy’s face again. He’d thought maybe with all that time that passed then he’d give up too. That whatever flight of fancy he was pursuing had lost its appeal. Kiku doesn’t flinch at Arthur’s response. Instead, he tilts his head.

“I thought I told you my name was Kiku.”

“I know your damn name, what do you want?”

Arthur’s voice is sleepy when he talks, and he’s trying to shake off the warmth of his weariness. This meeting felt surreal, a rude interruption to Arthur’s life. More than that, Arthur is on the defensive because he’s yet to figure out Kiku’s motives and is still irritated from their first meeting.

Kiku is still looking down on him, and Arthur takes the moment to examine him. He wears his uniform correctly, he’s painfully short for his age. Even his haircut looks like the sort of example they give you in the student handbook. He’s so average looking, Arthur can’t help but be baffled by his actions. The hallway is still filled with the sounds of their peers.

“I thought I had seen you before, but I wanted to see if I was right.”

Arthur furrows his brows. It’s like he’s talking a completely different language. Arthur reaches over for the curtains, having no patience for this, and not in the mood to throw a punch. He’s surprised when Kiku reaches over with the same speed, and grabs it, making sure he can’t draw it closed.

“My brother is the nurse here.” Kiku goes on, despite Arthur shooting him a look, “I’ve seen you here in the infirmary before.”

“So? What’s it to you?” Arthur, fully awake now, tries to fight against Kiku’s grip, but the other won’t let go. He’s wondering if tearing the thing is worth it, and if Kiku is dense.

“I was looking for you. I wanted to talk.”

Arthur frowns. He’s trying to make sense of the situation. From what Arthur’s used to, he wonders if Kiku is picking a fight from their last meeting. But he looks so normal, so straight-laced, it’s hard for Arthur to picture that at all. He takes the bait anyway; Francis isn’t there to play good conscious this time.

“You got a problem with me?”

“No.” Kiku deadpans, “I just want to talk to you. You don’t listen well, do you?”

“What-?!”

Kiku looks away from him before Arthur can finish what he was saying. He hears someone coming down the hall, a group of students, their conversation clearer as they got closer. Kiku looks behind him, and then back to Arthur. He suddenly moves forward, making Arthur’s heart jump. In the surprise of it, Kiku yanks the curtain closed behind him, tearing it out of Arthur’s grip. The shadow of it falls over them, and Kiku looks unperturbed by any of this, radiating neither intimidation nor intentions. However, his voice gets low.

“You never came to talk to me.”

Arthur, fed up, grimaces.

“The hell are you talking about?”

“Did you already forget what I told you?”

“Look, you-”

“Well.” Kiku looks to the side, “It doesn’t matter, now. I know where to find you. I guess I’ll just keep coming here.”

Arthur just stares at him. He couldn’t say Kiku was slow now, because he was irritatingly hard to catch up to. He moves again, and Arthur feels his shoulders tense. But Kiku only reaches over to the chair near the infirmary bed. He draws it closer and sits down, looking down and reaching into his blazer pocket for something. At this point, Arthur can only find himself watching, this moment too surreal for him to know how to act. He watches as Kiku, casual as can be, pulls out a bread packet. He glances up to Arthur, looking up at him through his fallen bangs.

“You don’t eat lunch, right? Let’s share.”

Arthur blinks. He glares.

“How the _hell_ do you know that?”

Kiku opens the plastic packaging, and is already splitting it between his hands. “Do you want some or not?”

Arthur is only now figuring out his questioning was getting nowhere, and that if he wanted to be on level ground then he’d have to follow Kiku’s orders. He thinks of hitting him again, but then looks down at the half-torn bread presented to him. Arthur’s a defensive idiot but he’s not a jerk. He tentatively takes it and when he does Kiku seems to brighten somewhat.

He won’t say it’s cute. It would be really stupid to say it was cute.

Kiku, satisfied, sits back.

“It’s Arthur, right?”

Arthur takes a bite of the bread. Custard. He only makes a small noise in acknowledgment.

“I’m surprised you’ve never seen me before.” Kiku goes on, and it’s sort of a relief when he finally explains himself, “I’ve seen you here plenty of times. You get into a lot of fights, don’t you?”

“Look, if you’re going to-”

“How many?”

Arthur stops. Kiku had said this with such a flat and yet inoffensive tone that it takes Arthur off-guard. When he looks at him, Kiku is just staring with those black eyes. Like obsidian. His expression is frustratingly hard to read.

“...You want to know how many fights I’ve been in?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?” Arthur scoffs, “You want me to teach you or something, _senpai?”_ He says this last part with condescension. “Get lost. I’m not interested in-”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.” Kiku cuts him off as he nibbles on his piece of the bread, “I’m not stupid enough to pick fights.”

Arthur tenses up, feeling a fire inch up his spine. He sits up taller.

“Look, you-!”

“Kiku.”

“Enough!” Arthur announces, frustrated and fed up, “Look, you come in here, bothering me, insulting me; what the hell is your deal? You want me to hit you?”

“You won’t.” Kiku doesn’t even look up at him as he finishes his bread and dusts his hands of crumbs, “You’re not the type to fight an amateur.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I can tell.” Kiku leans back, settling his hands on his lap. “You never answered me; how many fights?”

“Why do you want to know?” Arthur catches himself, “And you still haven’t answered mine! The hell do you want from me?”

It’s only from the quirk of Kiku’s eyebrows that he can tell he’s fallen into a trap. Kiku’s face lights up, making it clear an idea has just bloomed. Arthur can’t tell (and in the future he still won’t be able to tell) if Kiku had baited Arthur into this or if he had hatched his plan right then and there. What matters now, in this moment, is that Kiku leans forward again, his expression still unreadable but carrying the careful deduction of a beast.

“You’re right, I haven’t. How about we make this fair?” Kiku proposes, “I’ll answer a question of yours if you answer mine. We could do this day after day. That sounds like a nice arrangement, doesn’t it?”

Arthur glares down at him. He has a lot of attitude for someone so small. He looks away.

“Why should I? What happens if I refuse?”

He was hoping to see the confidence deflate from Kiku, but Kiku doesn’t change at all. Instead he looks down demurely, his eyes going soft. Arthur waits for an apology, some kind of scrambling, but then he feels Kiku slide his hand onto his.

Arthur’s breath catches.

His heart pounds. He hates how instantly this weakens him, and the world slows down. If there was any moment to lash out, then it would be this one. Perhaps it’s Arthur’s own inexperience; maybe it’s just how shocking an action it was. Looking down, he watches as Kiku holds up Arthur’s hand, the back of Arthur’s hand facing upwards. His hold is incredibly tentative, like he was handling glass and it’s the hesitation of it that makes the touch of it more striking. Kiku studies his hand for a moment, and his face is handsome in its concentration. No one has ever held Arthur’s hand like this. He finds himself equally studying his hand, the bruises from yesterday’s fight still painted on his knuckles. Kiku delicately runs a thumb over them and Arthur feels dizzy.

Then he hears the snapshot of a phone.

He looks up. He only now sees Kiku holding his phone in his other hand and how he’s holding it up to take a picture of Arthur and his hand. He looks up at him.

“There. If you refuse, I’ll show this proof to the teachers that you’ve been fighting.”

Arthur goes pale. Then, he flares.

“You bastard-!”

“Kiku.”

“I should-!”

Kiku tightens his grip on Arthur’s hand. He brings him forward, and Arthur’s heart stops when he sees how close they are. Kiku is still watching him, neither smug nor happy. Black. They’re such black eyes, Arthur thinks. Warm, almost reflective. He’s finally tuning into the sounds of the rest of the school, the sounds of hurried footsteps and people calling for each other. Kiku smiles.

“I’m interested in you.” He tells him, “That’s what I want from you. I find you interesting. I want to get to know you.”

Arthur, despite himself, flushes. He doesn’t have any words in the face of such unashamed honesty. He tries to think of something to say back, something to spit in his face, but then the bell rings. They both look up. Kiku sighs, the first emotion he’s shown that whole time, and draws back.

“I guess you’ll have to answer my question next time.” He concedes, “I have to get going.”  
“Wait-”

“You should head back, too. It’s bad to skip class.”

Kiku lets go of Arthur’s hand, and the lack of his pressure is noticeable. He stands up, and draws the curtains back again. It’s like waking up; the lights blind Arthur for a moment, and it feels like everything that just happened there will stay in that moment and won’t move any forward. Arthur should be mad. He should be angry and feisty like he always is, but his hand feels strangely empty and his head is spinning with the words ‘I’m interested in you’. He only comes back into focus when he sees Kiku looking back at him from the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Arthur.”

Arthur regains himself.

“You _won’t._ ”

Kiku catches his gaze. He smiles beautifully. He leaves.

And Arthur is breathless, but only for a few minutes. Then, he’s incredibly mad. _What the hell was that? Who does he think he is? Pisses me off, just acting like he can do what he wants. Creepy. Weirdo. Holding my hand like that. Couldn’t understand anything he was saying. Can’t believe he’s trying to blackmail me. Irritating. I should have punched him. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell._

Arthur tries in vain to return to his nap after that, but he ends up tossing and turning with these thoughts. He stares up at the ceiling, pissed off and restless. He gets up.

Arthur tells himself the only reason he goes back to class was so he didn’t have to think about that annoying upperclassman anymore.

* * *

Arthur should have known better then to tell Francis about it. He only realizes this as he hears Francis burst into laughter on the other end of the phone, and he sits through it, sulking.

“I told you. I told you not to pick a fight with him.” Francis struggles to say, “You should have listened to me.”

“Fuck off, frog.”

“And now he’s _blackmailing_ you?”

“I said fuck off.”

Arthur takes a look at the time. 9:40 in the evening. Has it been twenty minutes yet? The stew he’s waiting on bubbles patiently and agonizingly under the lid, and Arthur can feel the brunt of his hunger. Francis is still needling him.

“Still, he doesn’t sound like a bad guy.”

“Are you serious?”

“I mean, he’s just interested in you, right?” Francis hums on the other end. Arthur half-wonders what he’s doing. It’d be laughable if he was doing homework, “God knows why, of course.”

“He’s irritating.”

“I think this could be interesting. I’d say give him a chance.”

“As if I have a choice.” Arthur huffs.

“ _Arthur,_ ” Francis says with meaning, “give it a chance.”

And it takes Arthur a moment to get what he’s saying. That he was repeating himself for a reason. He wants to tell Francis that he doesn’t like the thought of being someone’s pet project or fancy new toy. That he doesn’t like being met with unrepentant kindness that carried a motive. Alternatively, if Kiku was just trying to toy with him out of sadistic boredom and from a higher stance. He hates that even more. He doubts anything good would come out of this, at least not on his end. Kiku might walk away from this whole ordeal with a light conscious or a satisfied curiosity, but what about him? Having parts taken from him to feed another, until Arthur was all used up. He hates it. He hates the whole thought of it.

He checks the clock again. He should probably tell him these things, but Arthur hates sharing himself.

“Has is been twenty minutes?” Francis asks casually, changing the topic.

“I lost track of the time.”

He hears Francis sigh disdainfully on the other end and then movement, like Francis was changing the position of the phone.

“I told you this is why you should have just let me come over and do it.”

“Then I’d have to owe you.” Arthur says this without gentleness. He lifts the lid and instantly winces. “It looks all watery.”

Another sigh.

“You’re pathetic, eyebrows.”

“Shut up.”

They go on like this, Francis coaxing and insulting Arthur through dinner until it gets too late and he has to go. And admittedly, Arthur hates these parts of the evenings the most. The house is very large and quiet without another voice, another body to fill it up. Arthur eats in silence, he puts up the leftovers alone, and the only dishes in the sink are his.

The moments before bed are the worst because of how desolate it feels. Just his own breath and heartbeat to hear, and his own thoughts to ruminate on. Growing up, he’d always hated the fighting because of how loud it was, but now he sort of wishes it was back. At the least, noise was noise and he knew there were other people who lived there besides himself.

Arthur thinks on this just as he’s about to turn off the kitchen light. He stares out into the space of it, the clean and barren of it. All he has to look forward to now is those cycling thoughts before sleep, so he hesitates. He’s an idiot; it keeps turning up in his mind. He shouldn’t have told Francis about it at all.

_I’m interested in you._

Arthur wonders what could be interesting about this. A single soul to occupy a space. The staleness of an empty kitchen table. His own self to look after. What could be interesting about any of that? What else is there to him?

Maybe Kiku was making up things about him. Maybe he had some image of him that Arthur didn’t know about, that he was unknowingly portraying. If he saw this, would Kiku have still said that? If he knew the truth, would Kiku still have seeked him out?

Arthur looks down, and he feels very small there.

Loneliness is a terrible beast. It makes us desperate for anything, no matter the circumstances.

Arthur turns off the light.

* * *

Kiku does come the next day. This time he comes with a bento with enough food for both of them. He displays it with similar flourish, tearing the curtain open, jolting Arthur awake.

“I didn’t bring one last time because I wasn’t sure if you’d want some.” He just explains after he interrupts Arthur’s nap a second time. “It’s better to have a full meal for lunch.”

Arthur watches him unpack it. He really came. He should punch him, he should tell him off, he should…

“Do you like tea? I bought some for both of us.”

It’s hard to be mad when someone is just handing you stuff. Arthur is a hurt person but he’s not a cruel one. Good manners are kicking in for this situation and they wrestle against his soured impulses. He’s also still feeling the emptiness of last night and it cries out of hunger. Arthur is halfway between confused and angry, so he settles on insults.

“...You’re _weird_ , you know that, right?”

Kiku just smiles at this. Like he knew he would say that.

So, Arthur, using boredom as an excuse, gives it a chance. At the least, he holds back from punching him for now.

For the next few days, he finds out a few things about Kiku, just as much as Kiku learns about him:

First, he’s an amazingly good cook. He learned from his brother.

He’s a fairly good student, with grades that far surpass Arthur’s.

He’s a part of the newspaper club. He asks Arthur if he’s read it. He hasn’t. Kiku isn’t surprised by this at all.

Also, lastly, he’s frustratingly blunt and naggy. These topics branch out for them, and the more Kiku finds out about him, the more he points out what Arthur does wrong. He doesn’t do this with concern or condescension, he just states it in a matter of fact way. When he learns about Arthur’s grades he points out that it’s rightfully his own fault. When he learns he hasn’t joined a club he points out its because Arthur wastes his time fooling around. The cooking is the worst of it; when he finds out what Arthur is capable of making he had given him a dead eyed stare.

“If you keep up like this, you’ll starve.”

What Arthur hates the most about this is that he’s not wrong about any of it. In fact, in Arthur’s more vulnerable moments, it’s the same exact things he says to himself. But it’s different hearing it from someone else, and so he gets defensive.

“It’s none of your business.” He frowns, “I can learn plenty later.”

“You can learn now. You’re not a kid anymore.” Kiku tells him plainly, putting another riceball in Arthur’s bento, as if out of pity, “How old are you? You should act like it.”

Another thing of note; none of Arthur’s intimidation tactics work on him. He glares at Kiku, but Kiku blatantly ignores it. It’s like he didn’t know what fear was.

As per their deal, Arthur answers what questions Kiku has. He tells him about the fights, of course. (He’s lost count of how many, but he can tell you who he’s taken on.) He asks him equally biting questions like if he has friends or if he’s doing well in school. It all takes Arthur off-guard. If anyone had the upper hand here, it was Kiku. If anyone knew fear in this situation, it was Arthur and Kiku knew it.

But, it’s not that Arthur ever felt in danger. In fact, that forward way of his was easy to read because it wasn’t hiding anything. Kiku would scold him, but he never insulted him. He wasn’t malicious in his statements. And while Arthur was waiting for soft concern to sting him, Kiku never looked at him with pity when he admitted the lesser things about himself. He told him he only had one friend and Kiku had only stared as he chewed his food. Arthur was bracing himself for nothing; Kiku swallowed, and just went on to ask about Francis and that was it.

Arthur sort of liked that neutral stance. There was no emotion or passion to Kiku, there was just bare bone reactions and truthful statements. It felt steady. But Arthur doesn’t trust when things look good, so he kept his wary stance no matter how well he liked all of it.

Kiku would keep track of the time for them. At the ends of each of these meetings, he would pack up for them, and tell Arthur the same thing:

“You’re going to class today, right? You shouldn’t skip.”

At the beginning, Arthur tried the same excuses on Kiku that he would use on Yao. But Kiku was more persistent in how he’d debunk all of them:

“My stomach hurts.”

“No it doesn’t. I just finished watching you eat lunch. You’re fine.”

Or:

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Then try to sleep better tonight. Go to class.”

Finally:

“I’m feeling faint.”

“Then it’s a good thing I fed you.”

Arthur would grit his teeth at all of this, but Kiku still remained unperturbed at his reactions. Sometimes Kiku would just leave him there and trust he’d go. The more time passed, Arthur began to just leave with him, grumbling all the way, but doing as he was told nonetheless. In both cases, Arthur still went. He refuses to think Kiku held any real sway over it. He just told himself that it was easier to go then to argue with him.

During all these meetings, Kiku never brings up the picture again.

* * *

The next time Arthur is home alone, he catches himself whistling a song he’d forgotten about forever ago. One he had loved, and that had come back to him, like it had been waiting for this chance again.

* * *

Arthur loves to read. Despite his appearances and grades, he’s actually a voracious reader who can appreciate the classics and secretly loves romances. He puts up a front though, and skipping third period with Francis, he pretends like he’s not interested at all when he sees Francis reading the school newspaper.

“He’s not a bad writer.” Francis yawns, “It’s informative.”

“Hm.” Arthur shrugs. He’s staring at the ash that’s fallen from his cigarette. “Why do you care? What’s the point of reading that thing?”

“It’s research.” Francis deadpans, and turns a page, “About your new boyfriend.”

“Don’t be gross. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I thought you would show up here.” Francis ignores him, “Like you’d be his new thinkpiece.”

Arthur says nothing. To be honest, he would think the same things when the happiness would creep in, when the defenses would kick in, when he was waiting for reality to come back home. Francis looks up from the newspaper and looks at Arthur. He pinches his side, and Arthur flinches.

“You’re getting fat.” He tells him, “He’s feeding you well.”

Arthur kicks him, and Francis laughs at him when he sees Arthur drop his cigarette in the scuffle.

* * *

 

A month passes like this without a hitch, a slowly evolving relationship that Kiku kept up for them without complaint. Humans are amazing things, Arthur thinks. Just about anything can become routine for them, despite initial protests. Arthur has started to get used to Kiku and that’s when the paranoia comes to catch him before he falls.

Kiku’s motive is still a mystery to him. Who just does this? There’s no pity, there’s no pride, and there’s no asking for anything. Kiku never fully answered him, he’s realizing. There has to be more. Though, truthfully, these are all the surface lies Arthur feeds himself. In reality, he knows what the real matter of it all is.

Arthur’s no saint. He knows damn well he’s no saint. He’s yet to treat Kiku kindly in return. Who was he to receive this attention, this care? The problem of this wasn’t Kiku but Arthur all along. Life doesn’t give kindness to people like him. There must be some mistake, some tilt to the universe and soon enough this would all explode in his face. After all, if things are meant to make sense then there must be a good reason Arthur is lonely, is hateful, that he must deserve this in some sense. The world should neatly separate those things, and Kiku was crossing over to places he wasn’t meant to. Arthur was not to be approached like this. He didn’t deserve it.

Arthur is waiting for the deadline of a clock he cannot see. The comfier he gets with all of this, the more terrible the break will be. You deserve bad things. Stop indulging yourself like this.

This is both Arthur’s subconscious thoughts, and mindless rants he throws at himself. He’s itching for a fight. The maelstrom of his mind has been untamed for so long. He has so much pressure built up, he’s longing for release. The bruises on his fists have healed long ago, and he finds it unsettling when he looks down at them and they’re only crooked but clean.

The universe, his cruel mistress, is nothing but happy to satisfy his needs.

It’s after school, when he’s walking home, is when the shadow falls over him. They always came to him first. Arthur looks up into faces he knows, faces he’s smashed before.

“Kirkland.” One sneers, leaning in, “S’been a while since we’ve seen you.”

Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes. Three of them. That’s plenty he needs right now and he half-wishes he could just skip straight to the conflict.

“Missed me that badly?”

“We were just wondering if you ran away.”

“Why?” Arthur scoffs, and he looks up smirking, “If I remember you were the one who ran off crying last time.”

He tilts his head and he has squared his shoulders without realizing it.

“Your nose.” He grins, “It healed pretty well, huh.”

Arthur’s unspoken code is to always throw the last punch no matter on who throws the first. This time is no different, not when Arthur feels the blunt force against his cheek. Arthur always makes sure his fights are quick and relentless, because taking time was for amateurs and show-offs. His vision is spinning, but he fights against it, and blocks the next hit, and the other two that join in.

Just because Arthur can take on three opponents doesn’t mean he comes out unscathed. But he’s home. He’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Arthur is also not a fair fighter; survival is not meant to be fair. He relishes when his knuckles ache against someone’s chin, when he side-swipes unsuspecting legs. He swears, a lot, and he gives back, the most. But he trips up, and it might be the lack of practice. Before he knows it, both of his arms are grabbed and he’s dragged into an alleyway, out of prying eyes. He’s held there, like a punching bag, and one of them punches him in the stomach. Arthur feels the wind knocked out of him, but the pain is so heavy, just like he wanted. He can’t think about anything else.

Arthur spits in the face of his opponent, and he grins. He’s punched, again.

With each hit, Arthur tries to think of a strategy, but then he just lets it go. His head is spinning, his body feels weak and on fire. All his running thoughts, the paranoia, the anxious waiting, is gone. He’s simply there now, in the moment, and calm. It’s nice when his mind goes blank like this. He coughs with the next hit, but he focuses on the pain in his lungs. There’s not really a reason to win, especially not for these things. It’s just about forgetting.

His vision is blurring, but he sees something in the corner of his eye. Something hits his attackers. Arthur is dropped, and he struggles to make out who it is in the chaos.

He’s so damn short.

Arthur is speechless.

Kiku is surprisingly competent. He’d always thought Kiku would be too inexperienced but he’s quick on his feet and even if he takes hits, he can give it twice back. His black hair is wild in the fight, and his eyes are concentrated but fierce. He seems to calculate each move, and true, while Arthur’s strategy is to get done quick, Kiku’s seems to be biding his time and hitting when they don’t expect it. There is a break in the fight, when all three are trying to recover, and it’s only a second. But Kiku takes this chance and he turns to Arthur, eyes wide and savage, and he lunges for him next.

Arthur jolts when his wrist is grabbed, and he’s dragged up from the ground. They run.

Arthur’s lungs ache as he tries to catch his breath, but the adrenaline fuels him and his legs feel like they’re on fire. Kiku’s grip is steadfast on his wrist, but he’s fast and Arthur tries to keep up. He watches his back with amazement, his mind catching up to the moment, going back to the image of Kiku in the fight, and Kiku now. He’s nothing like he’s used to. He’s so used to Kiku being candid but restrained, good and straight-laced. He’s wild now, unbridled, free and lovely.

Arthur feels like his heart will explode.

When they’re enough of a distance away, they stop and catch their breath. Kiku is panting, head thrown back, and Arthur now sees the flush to his cheeks and the mess the fight has made him. He finally gets a bearing at where they are, underneath the bridge that leads to the school. He glances up the slope, but sees no one. He’s thankful they weren’t followed, but then the instincts pass and the adrenaline dies down. His thoughts come back to him, rapidly confused at this situation. He looks down. Kiku hasn’t let go of his wrist. When he looks back up, Kiku is glaring at him, deathly cold and silent.

“Fighting,” Kiku reminds him, “is prohibited.”

Arthur blinks. His thoughts and emotions are going a mile a minute.

“The _hell_ was that?!” He yells.

“I should be asking you that.”

“I didn’t need your help!”

“No,” Kiku agrees, “You didn’t.”

Kiku lets go of his wrist like he was throwing away a piece of trash.

“I wasn’t there to help you. I was trying to stop you.”

Arthur tries to catch his breath. This statement settles into him, and everything else does too. He’d been so ready, so happy, to forget all these things that were confusing him, challenging him, but Kiku had come rushing in and taken that away from him too. Arthur is still thinking about how beautiful he had looked there, running away with him, watching his back. He keeps trying to shove it down, but it keeps coming back for him. Each time he replays it, his heart feels light, feels like it’s being gripped and squeezed. Arthur feels frustrated. He feels sick at himself for wanting to go back into the fray so he didn’t have to think about any of this. He feels broken. He doesn’t deserve this.

“Mind your own business.” Arthur mutters, looking down, “I had them.”

“I don’t care.” Kiku keeps going, “You shouldn’t have been fighting in the first place. There’s no point to it. You know this.”

Arthur shivers. It’s there again, that way Kiku states the truth without malice or pride. Arthur can’t argue against it. His stomach and cheek feels tender from the abuse, and he feels sick. He looks down at himself, the mess of his clothes, and wonders what a pitiful image his face is. This isn’t the infirmary; this isn’t just the two of them chatting over lunch and packing up when it’s time for class. He looks up and studies Kiku. He’s still flushed, angry, nothing like he knows.

This is pathetic. This is fucking sad.

(He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be a part of this.)

“Fuck you.” Arthur says low and it hurts when he says it, “Stay out of this.”

Kiku doesn’t flinch at this. Arthur doesn’t want to hear his side, so he soldiers on. He feels open, exposed, seen. He hates it and in an effort to feel safe, he just bleeds out whatever comes to his mind.

“I’m sick of you bothering me like this. Is this fun for you? Are you trying to feel good about yourself?”

Kiku’s expression doesn’t change. It makes Arthur feel more vulnerable when he doesn’t move.

“I don’t need your pity. Stop acting like you know better.” Arthur steps forward, and it’s only then Kiku moves, stepping back. It’s nice to see, and it gives Arthur a better read of the situation. “Or are you just lonely? Is that it? Why you keep clinging to me like this, like a creep?”

He glares down at him, but Kiku’s eyes only reflect himself back.

“You make me sick.” He tells him, and Arthur feels a lump form in his throat, “Don’t bother me again.”

He waits for Kiku to say something. He waits painfully; Kiku always has some quip back, something solid against Arthur’s childishness. Arthur can depend on that maturity, that hierarchy, but Kiku says nothing. Arthur wants to scream and lash out at himself, because the silence is overwhelming. He doesn’t know it, but he’s willing Kiku to make a move, to hit him like he deserves. To stand up against his words because they’re cheap and useless against him. To prove that Arthur has no power over him, that his ugliness won’t win out. The pleasure of his insults died down with its fed impulses and Arthur just feels like trash.

The sun is setting. Kiku is awash in the faint glow of it, and he finally looks down.

Arthur wants to cry.

But what else was he expecting? This was always the person he was; twisted and broken and knowing that only hatred could fill himself up. Everything that was being offered to him wasn’t meant for him and wasn’t suited for him. He had gotten too cushy, too used to being spoiled by blatant attention. It’s good this happened sooner than later, that the break came before Kiku could really take root. Arthur shoves past Kiku, still feeling bruised and pained. He still doesn’t know what Kiku had been planning, but he knows it was better that he be met with this. That he knew what he was really taking on. That he knew just what an irredeemable monster he was.

_I’m interested in you._

On the way home, in between the tears, Arthur laughs.

What a fucking joke.

* * *

It goes without saying, that Arthur doesn’t sleep well that night.

At lunch, he foregoes going to the infirmary at all. Instead he takes to smoking on the roof, and he finds himself watching the sky. It’s cloudy today, and each time he breathes he feels the tenderness in his chest. He has a few bruises from yesterday, and they dot his body like a pattern.

Arthur had already spent his evening in the self-wallowing portion of regret and now he’s cycling through replaying yesterday and cringing at intervals. The heat of the moment had swept him up, he knows, but he’s starting to hate everything he said and hates who he’s become. Arthur pulls his knees up to his chest, and hugs them. His cigarette dangles there, scabs on his knuckles, and he’s hungry.

He didn’t mean any of it, he didn’t even mean half of it. He keeps going back to the image of Kiku running with him, the grip on his wrist. It’s still unbearably overwhelming knowing he had intervened when he didn’t have to. There were so many things he could have done in that moment. Had Kiku thought of them, when he saw Arthur there, in the middle of a fight? Did he stop and realize he could just ignore it? Did he weigh his options? Or did he rush in just as soon as he saw Arthur was hurt? Arthur brings the cigarette to his lips and realizes it doesn’t even matter. He fought for him, some mouthy kid who’s been trying to drive him away since the first day. Kiku’s a nuisance, he’s abrupt, but everything he’s done was nothing but kind. Arthur stares listlessly ahead of him, and he feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

When had he gotten so twisted as to think he meant anything bad? When had he start to bristle at the kindness too? Was it the bullying? Was it his parents?

It was deeper than that, he realizes, it was something in his very core that was constantly re-written. Arthur knows he’s not normal. There’s been so much twisting into his character that he’s begun to worry he’ll never be normal again. It was him against the world, and inwardly the world is winning. Arthur’s begun to notice his personality has naturally become brusque and unwelcome. It’s his instinct to be an unlikable person with paranoia issues. A nail’s been driven in, and it’s stuck. His hands shake at this. He had kept blaming everything else, throwing his suspicion against the world, painted them with the colors of his hate. It was just him being defensive; Kiku hadn’t been planning anything from the start. It was just Arthur that was seeing things like this, jumping at shadows and lashing out.

Arthur starts to cry.

He should apologize. He should be honest. It’s frightening, but there’s a very childish need blossoming in Arthur right now that wants to make things right and to have everything back to how it should be. He wants to take back what he said, and make it that the scars of this event just disappear. It’s immature, of course, but Arthur is filled with so much regret, in such a vulnerable place, that he doesn’t judge his thoughts for once.

Arthur’s stomach aches with how empty is it, and he puts his head on his knees. He sighs loudly, and the school bell rings. He’ll just skip next period, he decides, and sniffles.

The door to the roof opens, and he jolts back to attention. He instantly goes to put out his cigarette, suspecting a teacher, but he stops.

Kiku looks down on him, a bandage on his cheek, and recognition in his eyes.

“I was right again.” He says, “I knew you’d be here.”

Arthur is speechless. The universe really does love throwing him around like this, doesn’t it? He opens his mouth, but closes it. In the face of him, Arthur drains of shame and apprehension. Kiku steps forward and closes the door behind him. In one hand, he’s carrying a bento.

“You weren’t in the infirmary.” Kiku launches into an explanation. He never does wait for Arthur. “So I had to go look for you. I suppose I’ll have to skip next period. It can’t be helped.”

He sits next to Arthur, and begins to unpack lunch for them and Arthur’s mind feels blank. He’s still awash with his running emotions, a turmoil burning in his chest, but Kiku doesn’t match his mood. He throws him off again. Arthur is surprised that this time he doesn’t feel instant irritation, but instead innocent confusion.

“Why are you here?”

His voice is hollow when he says it. Kiku looks up at him, unaffected. He holds up the bento in answer.

“Lunch.”

“That’s not what I-!”

“You’ll starve otherwise.”

“Kiku!”

Arthur’s voice is frighteningly young when he says his name. Arthur is still crying, and Kiku seems to take the hint and just watches him. Arthur, feeling unbearably seen, looks down in an effort at timidness.

“You shouldn’t...you shouldn’t be here.” His words shudder, “I told you not to bother me. I was…”

He wants to say he was a monster. That he was terrible. That he shouldn’t keep trying with a brat like him. He wants to spit all his believed truths, laying out for Kiku the logic of it all, the things he can’t avoid, the burdens he will carry. It hurts to see the bandage on Kiku’s cheek, and then he sees his shoulder shift. Arthur at first thinks Kiku will get up and leave, but instead he reaches into his blazer pocket.

He pulls out a handkerchief, and wipes Arthur’s tears. Arthur freezes.

“But you didn’t mean any of it, did you?” Kiku says softly.

Arthur blushes. Despite himself, and all the shame, he blushes. Kiku sighs, as he draws his hand back.

“Honestly, look at you. Of course you didn’t mean it.”

“That’s not-!” Arthur catches himself again, “That’s not the point! Dammit, I-”

“Arthur-”

“No.” Arthur is crying again, and he puts out his cigarette, trying to be serious, “Let me talk. Just let me talk.”

Kiku blinks. He sits back. “Alright. Then, talk.”

Arthur had been building himself up to fight for his chance more, but Kiku’s instant retreat takes him off guard. He’s so used to him taking charge without a care for what Arthur says so this is both a bizarre but welcome change. He still doesn’t look up at Kiku, but he wills himself through what he’s thinking.

“You can’t just say that and think that’s it.” Arthur explains, “I said some terrible things. And yeah, I didn’t mean them but I still,” Arthur chokes up again, “I still said them.”

He’s focusing his vision on the space between them, on Kiku’s hands placed on his own knees, holding his handkerchief in his left hand. His knuckles are bruised but the skin wasn’t broken.

“I’ll probably keep doing this. You should just realize that now, that I’ll keep doing this. I’m not...I’m not a good person. I’m an idiot. I must have hurt you, right?”

Arthur sniffles, and his vision has gone bleary from the tears.

“So you shouldn’t come here anymore. I’m not a good person to be around.”

Arthur half-wishes he wasn’t crying because he worries this will influence Kiku’s decision. He wonders if crying is him being a manipulative bastard. He hopes that he was able to convey himself well, the truths that he carries around, the realism that he lives with. Kiku wasn’t entirely pure, but he didn’t deserve to be around someone like Arthur. He doesn’t want Kiku to agree, but he knows it’s best that he should. Previously, he had thought Kiku was trying to help him out of pity. That he would have to give parts of himself to make Kiku whole. Now he wonders if that person is really him; taking parts of someone complete like Kiku so Arthur can feel good.

But he’s not trying to be melodramatic about it. Facts are facts. Even Kiku can’t deny that.

“I guess you’re not wrong.”

Arthur feels like someone jabbed him in the stomach, but he doesn’t say anything. He still doesn’t look up.

“I’ll be honest, I was hurt.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“But,” Kiku speaks back up, and his tone is comfortably even, “I thought long and hard about it, and I realized you never answered my first question.”

Arthur frowns. He looks up in bewilderment. He’s trying to remember that time they made their agreement, but Kiku passes that up too.

“Are you being bullied?”

Arthur feels his soul go cold. He’s so open right now, so exposed, that while previously he met this question with rage he can only feel terrified right now. His heart hammers away in his chest, and he looks to the side.

“...Why do you ask?”

“It’s important that I know.” Kiku leans forward, and Arthur’s heart jumps. “Tell me; did this start with you being bullied?”

Arthur blinks away tears. He has lost his voice, and he nods instead. Kiku leans back again, and his heart feels calmer.

“I see. Then it’s decided; I’m staying.”

Fear strikes Arthur’s chest, and he looks back up, but Kiku’s face is serene. Calm. Arthur keeps trying to fight against that.

“You can’t! Why?!”

“You’ve been hurt.” Kiku states, and his next words are cutting but honest, “And because you’ve been hurt you resort to lashing out. If you were only fighting for fun, I would have left. But I can tell you didn’t mean these things, that you regret them. You’ve been fighting for a very long time, haven’t you?”

Arthur feels small. He likes hearing Kiku talk like this, letting him overtake the conversation with both accuracy and steadiness. Kiku doesn’t use flowery words to console him. Instead he’s seeing all the hidden things Arthur carries and judging him like that. It’s nice. He doesn’t know how he can read him so well, but it’s nice to have someone be able to see it than to explain it himself.

“Well,” Kiku tilts his head, and looks upward in thought, “I say this, but I will have to warn you. If you keep acting like that, I probably will leave. I can be patient, but I won’t coddle you.”

“I won’t!”

Kiku widens his eyes in shock. Even Arthur is shocked at his own reaction. He looks away, feeling ridiculous.

“I-I mean even I know that much.” He scrambles, hoping his tears don’t make him look weak, “I’ll...I’ll try to be better from here on out.”

“Well,” Kiku answers, bemused, “I’ll hold you to that, then.”

The storm that’s been brewing in Arthur has died down and in the wake of it, Arthur comes back to Earth. This moment calms him and in the back of his mind he’s still trying to come up with excuses for Kiku, with ways to convince him that this is a mistake. But anything he comes up with, he already knows Kiku’s answers. That way he always refutes him with forward action, but the reliable truth he can’t refuse. Before, such things had annoyed him, but now he’s sort of grateful for it. All his anger and hate means nothing. It has no power in front of him, so Arthur can just be defenseless.

He starts to tear up again.

Kiku laughs.

Well, not really laughs. It’s more like a soft chuckle, but the sound of it makes Arthur melt. He’d never heard Kiku laugh. When he looks at him, Kiku’s face is soothing, his smile is mysterious but felt.

“Really, you’re such a crybaby.”

“I’m not.” Arthur tries to defend himself, but Kiku leans forward again with the handkerchief and he struggles, “You bastard, you want me to hit you?”

“You won’t.”

“Stop.” He swats Kiku’s hand away lightly, “I’m not a kid, just give it here.”

Kiku keeps smiling after he hands it to Arthur and watches him as he dries his tears. Arthur has half the mind to throw it back to him, but he thinks better on it. When he’s done, he sees Kiku looking at his phone, and he makes a small humming sound in thought.

“We still have plenty of time. Let’s eat.” He looks up at Arthur, “There’s something I need to tell you too.”

Arthur furrows his brows in confusion. He’s still exhausted from their talk, from his crying, and so he can’t imagine what else they would need to talk about. He tries to ask, but Kiku busies himself serving them and it’s only halfway through that he begins.

“I didn’t tell you the whole reason for why I approached you.”

Arthur is too tired to be shocked or anything. The atmosphere is comfortable enough for him to just accept this and to sit back and let Kiku share himself too. It’s only fair, after all. Not to mention, he’s finding himself wanting to hear about Kiku. It comes from a place of both hope and sincere wonder so he lets it slide. He eats, as Kiku watches the cloudy sky and explains himself.

“I really am surprised you haven’t noticed me before. I’ve seen you in the infirmary plenty of times.” Kiku tilts his head, “Well, I suppose you were asleep half of those times anyway.”

“And? What’s that go to do with this?”

“What month is it?”

Arthur blinks. He thinks on it for a moment.

“May?”

“Right. In a few more months, I’ll be graduating.”

Arthur stops chewing. He doesn’t know why this surprises him; he’s known Kiku was a senior from the beginning. Of course that means that he’ll be graduating after this year. It just felt very sudden to know that Kiku would be leaving this school before him. Kiku leans back on his palms then, head tilted back, his black hair falling like wisteria vines.

“A while ago, I realized that once I graduate there are a lot of things I won’t be able to do. When I graduate I’ll officially be a member of society. There are a lot of things we can do at our age that adults can’t. I’ve tried to be good up to this point. My grades aren’t bad. I don’t break rules. I do as I’m told. But…”

“But?”

Kiku tilts his head sideways and looks Arthur’s way. He’s handsome there, laid-back, and he’s trying to convey himself with a relaxation that knew what he wanted well.

“I thought that was a waste. I didn’t want to live a life where I missed something, so I’d like to try to do it now while I still can.”

Arthur frowns. He’s picking up all these pieces Kiku leaves for him, but he’s still lost.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go wild.” Kiku says finally, and Arthur feels something clench in his stomach. Kiku smiles tiredly. It’s the smile of an old, weary soul and he looks upwards once more. He seems to glow. “I want to do something reckless. I want to do all the stupid things they tell us not to do. When I become an adult, it will be harder to get away with those things. So I’d like to try that now, while I still can.”

Arthur feels the world fall away at the image and the words of him. It’s so self-centered. It’s so personable but honest. Kiku sighs, and closes his eyes.

“I decided that if I was going to do this, then I would do it with someone wilder than me. That’s why I approached you. I want to do something reckless, and I think being with you is enough.”

“That’s…” Arthur looks down, “That’s kind of selfish.”

“No. It’s very selfish.”

Arthur had been afraid of being a pet project, of being a pitiful showpiece. He’s trying to twist Kiku’s words into this, but he’s struggling with it. There’s no kindness to Kiku’s words, no attempts at good humanity. He’s not even trying to take pieces of Arthur to make himself whole. Instead he’s just barging in, wanting the presence of him without Arthur making any sacrifices. He’s right: it’s _very_ selfish. But Arthur finds himself fond of it. He can’t trust full-blown sweetness, he’s too defensive of it. Similarly, he would only lash out at anger and hatred. Kiku’s resolve sits at an awkward and neutral in between. Arthur likes that. It’s selfish, but he can relate to it. Understand it. Trust it.

Humans aren’t so good-hearted as to leave their own spheres of self-interest. No one reaches out unless they want something. And Kiku does, but it’s nothing that Arthur can’t handle and it’s nothing that wants to hurt him.

He feels himself relax. The world is nothing but them now.

“Are you mad at me?” Kiku asks. Arthur didn’t realize it before, but he’s also liking the depth of Kiku’s voice.

“Not really. I mean, you are kind of an asshole.”

Kiku laughs.

“But...But I guess I can see where you’re coming from.” Arthur blinks, “But why me? You could have picked anyone.”

Kiku’s smile fades at this, but in concentration. He sits forward again, and he looks down at his hands, fiddling with them, running a thumb over the bruises. His hands are pale and his fingers are pleasingly long, Arthur thinks. He knows that eventually they’ll have to leave for the next class, but he half-wonders if he can convince Kiku to stay. It would be a shame to cut this all short.

“To be honest, I don’t know.” Kiku shrugs, and he looks at him casually, “I just knew it had to be you.”

A wind blows past them, softly and chilling. Arthur is speechless at this, entirely disarmed and overwhelmed. They’re such cheap words, he tries to tell himself. They’re so flimsy and fake. This is the kind of stuff they say in romance movies, this is the pretty stuff that means nothing in the end. He struggles in convincing himself not to be swept away by them, to not let them through. But he’s never felt so special. It’s very hard to fight against it when someone makes you feel beautiful for once.

He can’t think of anything. He can’t think of any excuses and this is what upsets him more. Kiku, blaise and young, moves past this entirely. He checks his phone again and makes an unsatisfied noise with his throat.

“We should hurry.” He tells him, and picks up his chopsticks, “The class period is almost over.”

“I…”

“Hm?”

Arthur catches himself. He feels incredibly embarrassed being in the spotlight now, and even more flustered at the things he wants to ask. There’s nothing to hide behind anymore; there is simply the need for Kiku to stay with him a little longer. The wish to thank him. It’s all intensely personal so Arthur chokes on his words. He looks down, and he feels heat to his cheeks and his ears.

“...Oh.” Kiku interrupts him, saying this with understanding. Arthur panics.

“Wh-What?”

“You can keep it for now. Just clean it and return it to me later.”

Arthur looks at him confused, and Kiku motions to the handkerchief still in his hand. It’s stained with Arthur’s tears, and Arthur feels his face go scarlet.

“That’s not what I meant!”

But Kiku laughs again, and the moment has passed. He reminds Arthur again of the time and it feels both like nothing has changed but something has happened. Kiku is back to business as usual and Arthur has to marvel at how well he can handle himself. Arthur thinks the change is within him; this wasn’t sentimental in the least. If Kiku just wanted to visit Arthur and spend the time with him to act out then he guesses he can accept that. If Kiku can keep treating him like this, with understanding and sweetness then he doesn’t mind at all. He likes being paid attention to like this, because he knows Kiku is just believable enough that he can handle.

Next time, he thinks.

Next time, he’ll have a better excuse to make him stay.

* * *

 

Arthur weakens considerably in the next three months.

He is, of course, still rude. And it would be silly to think he’d stop fighting after this. But Kiku digs his claws into him lovingly and slowly, making small enough adjustments to not scare him but still enough to help him. It helps that Arthur opens up more to Kiku in the aftermath of their conversation. He can trust in Kiku having no more ulterior motives, not after he’s disclosed what he already had.

They share lunch all the time, so much that even Francis starts to complain. (“You liar, you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.” “Shut it.”) They bond during these times, and they’re interests are radically different from each other. Still, Arthur, a victim of isolation, comes to enjoy sharing parts of himself when there is a genuine interest.

He’s looking down at the cracked screen of his phone, at the album cover of his favorite band. He looks to Kiku, who wears one earbud, and is wincing like he just ate something very bad.

“So?” Arthur asks, “It’s good, right?”

Arthur can hear the loud sound of the guitars and the screaming from there, and Kiku is still frowning. It was sort of funny to see him make these expressions.

“I can’t understand half of what they’re saying.”

“Because it’s in English?”

“No. They keep screaming.”

“Yeah, that’s the point. It’s cool right?”

“It’s not.”

Arthur scoffs. “That’s good music you’re hearing there, be grateful.”

Kiku taps his fingers on his knees in high energy and Arthur wonders if he’s trying to not rip out the earbud then and there. “I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Oh? You have something better?”

Kiku looks serious then. He looks to the side deep in thought.

“...Do you know what vocaloid is?”

Arthur stares at him. Then he raises the phone and jacks up the volume so high that it makes Kiku flinch.

“You bastard, how dare you compare those two. Listen to this a hundred times over and repent.”

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to get attached. He sort of lets himself ease into it, and at times he finds himself doing it anyway.

One day Kiku doesn’t show up to the infirmary. Arthur looks for him on the roof, but he’s not there either. It felt too off for him to not see Kiku for the day- at least, that’s the excuse he regales to himself when he finds himself heading to the third floor in search of him. It would just mess up his schedule is all. It would just feel odd. He endures the confused looks of his seniors, and the faint whispers as he looks through each classroom window for him. He’s involuntarily irritated at it, but he controls his temper. When he finally spots Kiku, he’s hunched over his friend’s desk, looking at some kind of workbook with him, together. He’s pointing to the page, eyes half-lidded, and explaining something. Arthur recognizes his friend from that first day in the infirmary. (He vaguely remembers Kiku telling him his name, but he can’t remember now. It started with an F, that’s all he knows.)

Kiku glances up and their eyes lock. Arthur bristles instinctually. Kiku says something to his friend and then trots over, passing by the crowds of students. When they meet at the doorway, Arthur realizes he has no excuse this time. Not a good one, at least.

“Sorry. I lost track of time.” Kiku explains and it feels so strange to Arthur that he has to look down at him while the rest of the seniors on the floor towered him.

“I was helping Feliciano with his homework.” He explains, “Were you waiting long?”

“N-No…”

Kiku stares at him for a moment, and Arthur has to look away. Sometimes he hates how he can do that, just read him without having to say anything.

“I mean, I didn’t really notice.” Arthur lies, and finds the wall a much more interesting place to look for now.

“...You came to look for me.” Kiku points out, and Arthur can hear the smile in his voice. Arthur flushes, despite himself.

“I’m just hungry.”

“I’m glad.”

Arthur heats up more and vexation coils in his chest. Kiku places a hand on his forearm, softly pressing against him, and the coil tightens more.

“Wait for me in the hallway. I’ll only be a little longer.”

He leaves him with that, and Arthur refuses to watch him go. He shouldn’t have come. He feels dumb, but also naively elated. He’s stuck on the fact that Kiku didn’t tell him to wait on the roof. He’s stuck on the fact that Kiku wasn’t trying to hide him from anyone. Arthur spends that time leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, glaring at the floor. He heard the whispers, of course (he made quite a spectacle), but he tried to be good. It would be ridiculous to start a fight there, waiting for Kiku like this, when he was the one he was there for. Besides, he was used to things like that, and so as always he kept to himself. He’s only there for Kiku, he thinks cynically. None of them matter.

Kiku seemed happy when he saw him still there. They headed up to the roof together, and Kiku wordlessly slipped his hand into the crook of Arthur’s arm. Arthur felt his heart jolt. He wondered if this was his reward, but Kiku didn’t mention this afterwards, and so he could only guess.

There was this too. As the time went on and they approached the end of that third month, Arthur felt something flourish within him.

It was probably there before all of this. Something slowly being fed and growing, waiting for the chance for Arthur to finally see it. We won’t say it’s the result of happiness and continued companionship, because it doesn’t always end like this. Arthur was just drawn to him.

He finally sees it after school one day, watching the rain fall from the school entryway.

A scattering of other students milled about, the ones like him who hadn’t joined any clubs. Arthur had forgotten his umbrella. It happens; raising yourself lent itself to many scatterbrained moments like this one. He can’t even remember if he had bothered to check the forecast that morning. He watches it drip from the overhanging, the soft shush of it in the background. He wonders if it’s worth running through just to get home. He’s also wondering if he can just buy a cheap umbrella at a convenience store and trying to remember where the closest one is. He’s ruminating on his own thoughts like this until he feels someone poke him in the side. He flinches, instantly on guard until he sees Kiku there beside him.

“Kiku?”

He smiles in recognition, that mysterious way he does. The grey of the school suits him right now. Arthur rubs his side, pouting.

“Can’t you just say hi normally?”

“I thought you’d like that.” Kiku looks out into the rain, eyes sleepy but peaceful, “Let me guess; you forgot your umbrella?”

“And what if I did?”

“You should try to be more responsible.” Kiku chides him, without looking at him. He moves then, and Arthur looks to see him pulling out his own umbrella. “But I guess it can’t be helped.”

Arthur’s heart flutters. He puts two and two together in the span of only a few seconds. Kiku opens the black umbrella and it’s wide enough for both of them. He steps out, raising it above his head. He turns back around to look at Arthur, and he’s still smiling.

“Remember to bring it next time.” He tells him sweetly, “Until then; goodbye.”

Then he begins to walk off. Arthur watches on dumbly for only a few minutes before he lunges forward and grabs Kiku’s wrist.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He exclaims, “You bastard, at least offer it to me!”

Kiku looks at him placidly, but there’s a hint of mischief to his smile. It sort of wants to make Arthur hit him.

“Oh? You want me to walk you home?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“I don’t mind sharing the umbrella, but you have to ask.”

Arthur blushes. He should really hit him, he thinks. He looks down, embarrassed and struggling.

“Arthur,” Kiku reminds him again, softly, “You have to ask.”

“...Walk me home.”

“That’s not asking, that’s an order.”

“Would you stop messing with me already!” Arthur looks back up, “Just let me walk with you!”

He’s still gripping his wrist, but the pressure has loosened. Kiku watches him for a moment, torturing him for that time, and then he looks down to where Arthur has him held. Kiku slips his hand out of Arthur’s grip and holds his hand with his. He pulls him forward a bit, just until he’s under the shade of the umbrella with him.

“You should try to be more polite too.” He says lightly, and let’s go of him, “But I’ll let it pass for now.”

The sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella muffled his words, but Arthur is still charmed by the way he won’t look at him. His hand feels oddly empty even after that briefest of contact. He’s thinking of excuses again. Unknowingly, he’s calculating how far his house is from school to know how much time he has with him. It’s there he finally catches sight of it, but it’s still only formless thoughts and feelings that he can’t name. He has a vague idea, however, but it’s too embarrassing to know it fully yet. Instead he tries to change the topic as they walk. He asks about the Newspaper club, and Kiku tells him that the meeting was cancelled today; their president had caught a cold. The rain made everyone sleepy too, so Kiku decided to just cancel. He asks Arthur if he’s going to study when he gets home, and when he sees the uncomfortable look on his face, he launches into a lecture on how going to class wasn’t enough. On how he needs to put more effort into his grades. It’s this natural rhythm they have, even in that moment, that makes Arthur struggle to see it.

The rain kept pitter-pattering on the umbrella they huddled under, and Kiku held it there for them in the middle. It was chilly, of course, and it doesn’t escape Arthur’s notice, the way their shoulders kept brushing past each other at parts. He’s gotten so comfy, he knows. Just with his presence alone. He matches his gait, and Kiku, under the shade of the umbrella and the rain, looks natural there. Sleepy, but welcome.

He’s still thinking of excuses. He should take him out to eat maybe. It would be nice payment for all the lunches. They could stop at a bookstore. Sometimes they talk about the things they read, and Arthur thinks it could be fun if they went shopping together. He has no real attachments to these wants. Instead there is a fascinatingly simple need to see his wishes become true. He does not recognize it, because he doesn’t know better, and so these desires become purer as a result.

“Hey.” Arthur interrupts him at one point. He could actually care less about Kiku’s lectures.

“It’s rude to interrupt someone.”

“Are we friends?”

Kiku stops.

“...Why do you ask?”

Arthur tries to play it cool, in vain. With his hands in his pockets, he looks off into the distance like he had better things to worry about.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, “I’m just curious.”

His question hangs there between them, awkwardly. The rain continues its steady downpour and Arthur hopes Kiku can read what he’s saying here, too. Arthur doesn’t know why he asked, but it felt like it was time. Maybe he was feeling insecure. Most likely, he just likes to depend on Kiku to spoil him like this. Their shoulders are touching now, feather-light but warm, and he feels Kiku shrug.

“If you would like to think of me as a friend, then I don’t mind.” Kiku finally tells him. Arthur frowns, dissatisfied.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What it sounds like.” Kiku reiterates, “If you want to think of me like that, then that’s fine.”

He looks at him after this, with those piercing black eyes, and Arthur hesitates. He feels a strange tension to this moment, to Kiku’s words. Like he was daring him, pressuring him. The world feels like it’s closing in on them, surrounded by the rain like this, and Arthur is hesitating. The picture of it becomes clearer, these emotions finally gaining some resemblance to things he can recognize. He turns the word ‘friend’ around in his mind and as much as he tries, it doesn’t fit. It’s not right. It’s just not right.

Arthur looks down. He watches the puddles on the ground, the constant ripples from the rain. The reflections they give off are disrupted, almost in rhythm.

“...Do you want to go to a cafe?”

He’ll give out excuses later, he decides. It would just be a shame to cut this so short. He also will refuse to explain himself; the word ‘friend’ feels too small for them, but he won’t tell Kiku this. Right now, he just wants to keep him there, for just a little longer. Maybe, for just as long as it rains.

“Only if you’re paying.”

Arthur shoots him a look, and Kiku is smiling. It’s that same fox-like smile from the first day. Arthur has an insult on the tip of his tongue, but he holds back. It would jeopardize his excuse if he said anything. They go on like this, half-bickering and half-toying, pleasant and foregoing needs for answers and confrontation. Arthur would like to think that maybe Kiku was being patient. Waiting for him. Arthur doesn’t rush himself out of both fear and coziness.

It was enough, being there with him under the rain. Protected and together and being filled with attention until he thought he would burst.

* * *

Arthur should be in gym, but instead he’s struggling with falling asleep. The infirmary was quiet as always, but Yao was keeping him awake. He was doing this irritating thing, spinning the pen in his hand as he filled out reports. It kept going like that, _thwick thwick thwick_ and then _thwack_ when Yao caught it. Arthur frowned and leaned over the bed.

“Could you stop that?”

Yao, balancing his head in his other hand, didn’t glance his way. He kept spinning the pen and his eyes scanned the page.

“You’re not asleep yet?”

“Not when you’re doing _that_. It’s irritating.”

Yao sighed, and wrote something down. His black hair was pulled to one side, and it fell in a smooth line. It’s different from Kiku’s, Arthur thinks. Kiku’s hair was more like shorter brushstrokes.

“If you’re not sleepy, then go back to class.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I thought you were starting to shape up.” Yao ignores him, and turns a page. He’s spinning the pen again. “Your teachers were talking about how you’re showing up more.”

 _Thwick, thwick, thwick. Thwack._ Arthur looks away. He could care less about what any of the staff here said about him. To him, they were just as bad as the bullies that targeted him, because they were the adults who decided to turn a blind eye. Who branded him trouble when he looked for help.

“It’s Kiku, isn’t it?”

Arthur feels his heart startle. He looks back, but Yao is still looking down, casual as can be. It felt odd for a third party to talk about the relationship, especially Yao himself. He’s instantly on the defensive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Kirkland,” Yao sighs again, “I’m not blind. I’ve noticed.”

“What? You’re gonna tell me to stay away from him?” Arthur scoffs, “That I’m a bad influence?”

“Don’t be a brat.”

Yao catches the pen but doesn’t spin it. He leans back in his chair, and he smirks at him. Their smiles aren’t the same, Arthur thinks, but he knows when he’s being mocked.

“Kiku is a good kid. He’s responsible, you know, but he’s also independent. He doesn’t need me to baby him anymore. I trust him. You’re a brat, so I’m worried about you more.”

Arthur furrows his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What is sounds like.” Yao looks upward, and there’s the barest hint of a laugh in his tone, “Good luck in trying to handle him. God knows I couldn’t.”

Arthur’s temper gets the best of him. He wants to say something, but he also knows it would be a hassle if he got kicked out of the infirmary. But what an insult it was, to say that he couldn’t handle him. Yao could be infuriating too in his own way, but it wasn’t out of affection. Every time, it just came across as obligation.

“Now.” Yao leans forward again, spinning the pen, “If you’re not going to sleep, then go back to class.”

Arthur boils with words in his throat, but pushes them down. Instead he leans over and pulls the curtain closed. He throws himself back on the bed in defiance. Yao doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even react at all.

_Thwick, thwick, thwick. Thwack._

* * *

Arthur’s in a bad mood when Kiku breaks the tension for them. He doesn’t think it was a response to that, and he’s sure Kiku would have done it any other time. Honestly, he can never really tell with him. He’d gotten into another fight the day before, and there are bandages on his hands again, and although he’d technically won, he’s still sour about the whole ordeal. It’s the reason he decides to smoke in front of Kiku even though he could already sense the lecture coming a mile away. Kiku glances at him sideways as Arthur lights up, and winces when he blows out his first smoke.

“You’re too young to smoke.”

“No shit.”

“Arthur.”

Arthur feels annoyance buzz in the back of his brain, a short temper trying to break free. If Kiku was going to give him a spiel about the dangers of smoking he was ready to snap at him. It’s stupid, of course, but Arthur didn’t stop being stupid no matter how much care Kiku gave him. Kiku surprises him by holding his hand out, palm upwards. Arthur frowns at him.

“Give me one.”

“Oh?” Arthur grins, “Finally want to break the rules?”

“I just want to try it.”

Arthur gets out his pack and offers him one. He wonders if he’ll have to teach Kiku how to do it properly, but surprisingly Kiku takes to it like a fish to water. When he breathes in the lit cigarette, he slowly exhales, cool and serene. The sun is shining that day, and Kiku’s arms are visible in the summer uniform. He’s pale and lanky, and the grimace he makes afterwards is somehow disdainfully beautiful.

“It tastes awful.”

“You get used to it.” Arthur leans back.

“I don’t like you smoking.”

Arthur glares at him. So, there _was_ going to be a lecture anyway. The annoyance comes back.

“It’s bad for your health. And it tastes awful.”

“What’s the taste got to do with it?”

Kiku blinks, looking down at the cigarette held between his fingers.

“I think I know why now.” He tells him bluntly, “Why it had to be you.”

Usually Arthur just lets it slide nowadays, when Kiku just switches from one topic to the next. He’s maddening right now, in how he’s just following his own thoughts without letting Arthur in on it. Everything was so inwards for Kiku so the outside world struggled to keep up and understand. Even now, this topic seemed to come out of nowhere, and especially when Arthur was feeling bitter like this.

“You’re not making sense, Kiku.”

“But you want to know, right?” Kiku says and he stands up, looking at the horizon. He’s so thin, Arthur thinks. Damnably vague, though. “But, first, I want to show you something.”

“Now what?”

“A trick I know.” Kiku holds out his hand again, “Give me the pack.”

Arthur eyes him warily. His shoulders tense up.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Do you always have to be so paranoid?” Kiku asks without emotion, “You’ll like it. It’s a magic trick.”

Arthur wants to tell him he’s not a kid, and why would he care about stuff like that. But he’s going back to what Kiku mentioned before, about why he chose him out of anyone else. Well, if he just has to humor him for a moment to get an answer then he doesn’t see a problem with it. Arthur reaches into his pocket and hands the cigarette pack over. Kiku looks down at it and then at Arthur. He smiles, mischievous again.

“Now, I’ll make it a disappear.”

After Kiku says this, he’s fast. So sudden that Arthur can only watch in surprise. Kiku takes it and runs to the edge of the roof, and with the same grace and movement of a baseball player, he throws the cigarette pack over the chain-link fence.

Arthur watches it as it sails through the sky and then out of view.

He stares, slack-jawed. Kiku turns to look at him.

“See?” He deadpans, holding his hands up in show, “It disappeared.”

“You bastard!” Arthur screams and scrambles up to look over the edge, “Do you know how much those things cost?!”

“I told you I don’t like you smoking.”

“I should hit you! The hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Arthur.”

“I mean it this time! I’m gonna hit you!”

Kiku drops his cigarette, and snuffs it out with his shoe. When he looks back up, he still looks uneffected, not scared at all of Arthur’s words.

And it’s sudden, when he does it. Arthur is halfway through another threat, still raging, when Kiku grabs his shirt and pulls him forward.

What Arthur remembers from this the most, was the taste of the tobacco. Was how his mouth was still half-open. And a blue, blue sky above them.

For Arthur’s first kiss, he forgets to close his eyes.

He’s understandably speechless when Kiku pulls away. Kiku looks at him without emotion and without passion, but with simple recognition. Of all the things that has happened between them, it all flashes in Arthur’s mind and he should have known. Maybe he already did. His mind is blank, otherwise. There’s just a single thought that comes in the reflex of this.

That was too clumsy. It wasn’t perfect. The first kiss should have been more graceful. He should have closed his eyes.

Kiku looks down, and sighs.

“It really does taste awful.” He tells him, and puts a hand over his mouth, “I hate the taste of tobacco.”

Arthur is too shocked to respond. God, he’s so unromantic. More importantly, how long has he been wanting to do that? No, why hasn’t he done that before? Shit, why hadn’t he noticed? Arthur has never been confessed to before, he’s never been pursued, he’s never been kissed like this. He’s at a complete loss in the face of romance and he’s struggling to catch up.

The bell rings. Kiku looks away.

“Ah.” He notes, disappointed. “We’re going to be late. Let’s hurry.”

But as usual, Kiku moves at his own pace and Arthur has to follow. He moves back to pack up their things and Arthur stands there dumbly. The world comes back to him, and he’s still thinking on the pressure of Kiku’s lips against his own. He finally speaks.

“Wait!”

Kiku looks back. Arthur feels too shy to look at him right now.

“Why,” Arthur gulps, “Why did it have to be me?”

Arthur both doesn’t want Kiku to look at him, but also doesn’t want him to look at anything else. He’s still coping with the fact that he was kissed, that someone had wanted to kiss him, and that that person was Kiku. There’s a small voice, laced with paranoia, that’s insisting that he doesn’t deserve this. That’s telling him this is all going to fall apart. That Kiku will recite some sappy lines about falling in love and destinies and that this was going to be on the support of shaky emotion like love. It’s so flimsy, he tries to tell himself, it’s so temporary. He wants to be elated by this kiss (because he is, by God, he is), but everything is holding him back from chasing this. He wants Kiku to either prove him wrong or right, and both options scare him in different ways.

Kiku stands there, stoic and immoveable. Arthur wonders if that’s where Kiku’s romance is; in that he seriously considers his answers than to continue ignoring Arthur. And Arthur knows he’s selfish of course. Kiku is a flippant person, but he’s honest and he’s not cruel. He doesn’t wear his selfishness like a badge of pride, like something to flaunt in front of others to prove his superiority. It’s just this very stable thing Arthur likes to depend on, the idea that a person would only serve themself. He finds he’s strangely apprehensive to Kiku’s answer, but he wants to know it. He wants to trust him.

Kiku watches him, and he doesn’t look away when he says it. He grins.

“I have a thing for blonds.”

* * *

In the aftermath of Arthur’s first kiss, he tries to come to terms with it. He’s an idiot, so mostly he spends this time replaying the moment, the feel of it, rolling around in his bed, frustrated with himself, intensely embarrassed, and cursing the fact that he should have closed his eyes. He spends his time in a daze, wondering how to respond. He thought confessions were meant to be more orderly than this, more clean. But then again, he never thought of himself as anyone worth pursuing so he had never prepared himself.

Of course he doesn’t go to Francis for this, despite the well of experience he has. Arthur isn’t that stupid as to just hand over ample material for Francis to mock him with. Instead, he unknowingly starts to avoid Kiku, without intention but only out of shyness. Kiku has none of this, and after three days, he waits for Arthur by the school gate. Before the other can bolt, Kiku grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the way. There is that lengthy discussion between them: Arthur blubbering with both apologies and defense, until Kiku sighs heavily, cutting him off.

“Let’s go to a cafe. We can talk there.”

And that’s how they end up here, sitting at a family restaurant, Arthur mostly leaving his tea forgotten and Kiku twirling the straw in his melon soda. Arthur had been surprised Kiku had ordered it; he never thought of him as one for sweets. But Kiku had just shrugged and looked out the window, saying he wanted to try something new. Arthur focuses on how green it was, the way the ice cubes almost sparkled, as Kiku talked.

“I’m guessing you want to know how long.” Kiku says casually, “I’ll be honest with you; I had only realized when I borrowed that cigarette.”

Arthur’s mind is bubbling with a variety of different questions; he wants to ask ‘why’ first off. He wants to know if he’s sure. He wants to know if he’s felt strongly about him before. Then, he frowns.

“Wait a second.”

“Hm?”

“Idiot. At least do it properly. You can’t just kiss someone, and say that’s it.”

Kiku chuckles. “‘Do it properly’? I didn’t know you were a romantic.”

“That’s not-!”

“I love you.” Kiku says finally, “I’m in love with you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Arthur feels the strike of it, and it shakes his core in a way he didn’t think was possible. He blushes. He averts his gaze, thinking he really was stupid to ask for such a thing. But why would he? Did he just like the attention? Someone neglected like him, he worried he was just hungry for whatever affection was given to him. But there is that other part of him, lonely, young. A child left all by himself. He wants to hear it said a hundred times more until he’s breathless.

It was pretty. Arthur hates that he can’t deny that.

“...Aren’t you ashamed?”

“You’re the one who wanted to hear it.”

Arthur feels riled up and he glares at Kiku. He tries to think of something to say, but the defenses kick in again.

“Why me?”

“I thought I told you.”

“Get off it! If this is a joke, I’ll seriously get mad.”

“It’s not.” Kiku takes a sip of his melon soda. “There are a lot of things to like about you.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You’re cute.” Kiku lists off, and Arthur’s blush reaches his ears, “You try to act tough, but you’re rather soft. You struggle to express yourself but you try. I like that the most about you: you try. Despite everything else, you give things a chance.”

The ice in Kiku’s drink shift, and Arthur feels like the world is falling away. Something in him sings; it loves to be recognized, it loves to be flattered, and it wants to be seen. Perhaps he’s been waiting for this for a very long time.

Kiku glances up.

“...You’re blushing.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you happy?”

“I said, shut up!”

He’s glaring out the window now, his hands gripping his knees, as he wills his heart to stop beating so fast. It’s not even romantic; Kiku reads out his feelings like they’re the weather report. He’s just so upfront with all of it, and that’s why Arthur feels so much more emotional. There is no hesitation and no doubt. Kiku might actually like him, if that’s the case. He doesn’t know how to handle this information at all.

“Arthur.” Kiku says quietly, “you know what this means, right?”

“I should hit you.”

“Arthur, be serious.”

His voice catches Arthur’s attention and he looks. Kiku’s face is still passive, but he looks at him with a different intensity. Like he can see right through him. In the time Arthur has gotten to know Kiku, he’s starting to recognize the small cues to know what he’s thinking. What he’s trying to tell him.

“You don’t have to answer me now.” Kiku goes on, “But I _am_ wondering how you feel.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

Arthur catches on, of course. He’d already caught on a while ago. The topic had been there, when he was wrestling with his thoughts and the revelation. Just as much as Arthur doesn’t know how it’s like to be loved, he equally doesn’t know how it’s like to love someone. Love wasn’t really expressed to him growing up, and it was something he assumed he couldn’t have or need. He always saw himself as a hateful thing so his mind blanks at the thought of it. Arthur looks down at his tea, and tries to think of it.

To be in love with Kiku sounded like a foreign concept. He couldn’t understand that. So he tried to trace his steps back, to the things he did know. He knows Kiku loves him. He knows Kiku frustrates him. But he likes spending time with it and he keeps wanting excuses. For Kiku to barge in and force the connection and no matter what he says, he always wants it to go on for just a little longer.

He knows, at the very least, that is not hate.

“I,” He gulps, “I don’t know.”

He hears the ice in Kiku’s drink shift again. He’s twirling the straw again.

“You don’t know?”

“I just…” Arthur sighs, frustrated, “I don’t know. Right now, I just want you to stay.”

The twirling stops.

“That’s good, then.” Kiku responds softly, with compassion. Arthur is surprised, because at the edge of his voice, there almost sounds like relief. Emotion. A tender softening to his tone that cushioned the inflections.

“I’m glad.” He continues, “Because I didn’t want to leave.”

It’s the second time Arthur has seen his words effect Kiku in some way. He’s just as glad too; that this time it wasn’t his childish hatred, that his words could make him happy instead. He liked this reaction better. It made him feel like less of a cruel person. It’s so ridiculously simple. It shouldn’t matter. But Arthur wants to rush in and reassure him over and over again.

He won’t say this, of course. He’s still a damn coward. Kiku similarily won’t pressure him and so for now he just wants them to stay, like this, until he can sort it all out.

Arthur sees a shadow fall across the table, and then feels Kiku’s hand on his hair. Arthur’s heart stops, and he looks up. Kiku is inquisitively looking at his hair and brushes some it behind his ear.

“But, you know,” Kiku says, mostly to himself, “It _is_ such a pretty color.”

Arthur smacks his hand away, blushing.

“Don’t be gross!”

And Kiku laughs.

* * *

They’re able to maintain the same easygoing relationship despite Kiku’s confession. Arthur thinks it’s weird; that there was no drama to it. He was waiting for his paranoia to come back and cry at him, or for Kiku to build up and explode with impatience. But instead, it sort of hung there between them, alternating between being ignored and casually referenced. If Kiku ever brought it up, he only did it in self-deprecating matters or whenever he felt like teasing Arthur with it. But he keeps his word; he waits for him. Predictably, and almost thankfully, it only takes a week and a half for Arthur to finally answer.

Right now, Kiku doesn’t know this, of course. He just knows that Arthur hasn’t showed up to school for two days. He hasn’t answered any of his texts, but he knows something is up when he finds himself staring up at Francis after school.

Kiku has rarely gotten chances to actually talk to Francis one-on-one. The social circles Arthur and him moved were so vastly different. Francis was handsome, Kiku supposed. Tired, but in a passionate way. He smiles easily at him.

“We need to talk.”

Kiku knows who to fear in this school and who is all bravado. He’s amazingly talented at being able to read people and situations, and while he doesn’t mind calling himself a coward sometimes, right now there’s no need. Kiku agrees, and they talk around the corner of the school. Francis reaches into his bag first, and pulls out some booklets.

“Here. I just wanted to give these to you.” He tells him, “You know how to get to Arthur’s house, right?”

Kiku scans the front of them. Homework. He furrows his brow and looks up to Francis for answers. Kiku doesn’t know the expression he’s making, but Francis catches on quickly, blinking in confusion.

“Oh? You don’t want to see him? He doesn’t look all that bad, I promise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ahh,” Francis sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “He didn’t tell you, did he? That idiot eyebrows. He got in another fight. He got a black eye, so he decided to stay home until it heals.”

Kiku tinges with something, and he already knows it’s worry. But then he feels irritation itch at him, wondering how many times he’s been here and how many times Arthur keeps doing this. Right now, that’s irrelevant because he’s been feeling this many times during their time together. Instead, Kiku takes the papers, and is trying to decipher this person before him. Arthur has told him about Francis, of course, but it was never kindly. At least, not on the surface.

“But why are you giving me this?” Kiku asks instead. He can get more answers from Arthur, and he fully intends to, but that’s for later.

“Oh? Perceptive, aren’t we?” Francis leans against the wall of the school casually, and Kiku feels like he’s been trapped for now. Francis’ uniform is worn just as casually as his demeanor. Kiku knows his story from Arthur, and he’s proving all of it right. He looks back up into sleepy and affectionate eyes.

“He’s pitiful, isn’t he?” Francis asks, “For the longest time, I couldn’t understand why you pursued him.”

Kiku just watches. He still doesn’t feel a prickle of danger, no alarm bells.

“But the more that guy talked about you, the more I could see it. He’s happy with you. He doesn’t see that, but I think you’re good for him.”

“So,” Kiku gets to the point, “for awhile you didn’t trust me.”

Francis drops his smile. It reminded Kiku of when a peacock lets down their tail. There’s still no alarm bells, but Kiku liked that he could draw a serious side out of him. It must be hard, he thinks, for a playboy to finally act serious.

“No wonder you’re good for him. You’re smart.”

Francis, slips his hands into his pockets, and leans forward. Kiku can tell this is all talk too. He must be just as perceptive as him, and right now they were wordlessly evaluating each other.

Kiku had already decided long ago, that Francis was a good friend.

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything now, does it?” Francis smiles, “I’m leaving this to you. Take care of him.”

A long time ago, Arthur had told Kiku how him and Francis had met. He’d hit on the wrong girl, he’d angered the wrong boyfriend, and Arthur mistook him as an innocent victim. Nonetheless, protecting him brought them together, and while Arthur derided Francis as a person they seemed to understand each other. “He’s a terrible flirt”, Arthur had confessed one day, “but I could do worse, I guess.”

Kiku doesn’t know how long they have been friends. To be honest, it’s a little intimidating to think about, but taking care of Arthur wasn’t about unloading his insecurities on him. Rather, this is just the love in him being afraid. It’s entirely unfounded but it likes to play victim that way. Kiku pushes it all down, and he looks down to the papers, then up to Francis.

This is more now, then just passing time during his last year. Francis brightens and it takes Kiku off guard.

“Oh, you know,” He grins, “I think this is the first time I’ve gotten a good look at you. You’re cute, aren’t you?”

He reaches forward, brushing some hair behind Kiku’s ear. “Let’s forget about Arthur. Why not get some tea with me?”

Kiku blinks. The touch feels the same as when people bump into him on the train. He really is a good friend, he thinks, and steps back.

“I must politely decline.”

Francis pouts, and Kiku doesn’t know if it’s authentic or faked. It didn’t matter either way, but Francis goes on to coo about what a shame it is.

“You’re no fun. Well, I guess I can give you some advice instead.”

“Advice?”

“If you’re going to stay over,” Francis tells him, “Make him dinner. He needs it.”

The idea comes out of nowhere for Kiku; it’s an odd bit of advice, he’ll admit. But he can tell Francis understands and that he knows the situation better. He also knew just how Kiku felt, and so he respects that. Nods.

But Kiku is a set person with a set admiration. A long time ago, Arthur had taken root in his heart and so he decided to persistently pursue this person, and this person alone. Everyone else was irrelevant. Kiku was sort of smitten, that way.

So he’s not afraid when he gets to Arthur’s house. He’s actually amazed first; it was a pretty big place considering the neighborhood. Arthur has never told him about his family or his living situation. What he knows mostly is that Arthur mostly raises himself; he’s a terrible cook, he’s bad at keeping up with his studies, but at the very least he remembers to go to school. Still, Kiku had imagined some beat-up apartment complex. He rings the doorbell, and when Arthur finally answers the door, Kiku feels something squeeze his heart.

It’s healed, mostly. But there’s still a dull purple half-circle under Arthur’s eye.

It’s further ruined by the next expression Arthur makes. His eyebrows raise in surprise, his eyes widen in shock, like he just saw a tiger running at him. He instantly goes to close the door, but Kiku had predicted this. He grabs the edge of the door to stop it from closing. Arthur struggles against the hold, still looking fearful.

“I brought your homework.”

“Just leave it here then!”

“Let me in.”

“I won’t!” Arthur grimaces, “God, would you stop glaring at me like that, it’s scary!”

Kiku didn’t even realize he was glaring but he does finally recognize the anger simmering in his stomach. He must have scared him without thinking. He guesses he could understand why, and all the reasons come flooding in the longer he stands there.

“Let me in. I want to talk.”

Arthur continues to struggle and they stare at each other for only a few seconds. He finally relents. Kiku’s head is cool, but his mouth knows exactly what to say. Arthur’s mistakes are always like a checklist for him to go down and he knows Arthur needs to hear it and can handle it. Still, when he walks in, Arthur is pouting like a kid.

“You should have messaged me.” He tells him, “And you should stop fighting already. I’ve told you this before, you don’t need it.”

“They started it.”

“It doesn’t matter who started it, it shouldn’t have happened anyway.”

“This is why I didn’t message you; I knew you’d just get all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up.”

“Liar.”

Kiku turns and glares at him. Arthur usually has such a pretty face, he thinks, but that bruise is like someone threw an inkblot on a painting. There’s still panic in his chest, a burning need to know who and for revenge. There’s also impatience, knowing that Arthur keeps doing this to himself despite how much better he is then this. He simultaneously wants to scold Arthur and to kiss him better. Kiku’s usually an apathetic person, well in control of his own feelings, but just looking at Arthur makes him so much more emotional than he should be.

Kiku knows he’s head over heels, but he embraces this.

“Where’s your kitchen?” He asks, instead of following his impulses.

The kitchen is large too, Kiku notices. Arthur sits at the table as Kiku gets an ice bag in order. It’s a clean room, unbearably so, he thinks. Like there’s no one else here, like it’s too big for just one student. On the wall, he sees a largely noticeable wash of fresh paint. Like the wall had been patched up.

Kiku is a selfish person; growing up, he decided to embrace this so long as it didn’t hurt anyone. It bloomed into self-independence as he grew older, and this year he decided to go wild with it, instead of hiding behind good manners and politeness. This is why he doesn’t ask about the patch as soon as he saw it. This is also why, when he goes to put the ice on Arthur’s eye, he tilts his chin up lightly with his fingers. Arthur blushes at the contact; Kiku knew he would. He wanted him to, just as much as he wanted to care for him. The moment is broken as soon as the cold hits Arthur’s wound, and he winces instead.

“I already put ice on it earlier.” He grumbles.

“Shush.”

Arthur averts his gaze and Kiku realizes he must be staring. But it’s hard not to; he’s lost count of how many times he’s caught himself looking at Arthur. He must not think it (Arthur’s too self-deprecating to) but he’s handsome. Even now, Kiku thinks he has never seen such lovely green eyes before, and he knows he’s taking advantage of the situation. He doesn’t know how Arthur can keep beating himself up like this when he has so many good points, so many things Kiku wants to indulge in and keep. That’s why it’s there, the whirlwind of emotions that kick up everytime he sees him. It’s not that he thinks Arthur is pretty because he hates himself. Rather it’s that he’s so immensely dense about himself and yet fooled into thinking he knows everything there is to know. That he must be hated. That he must be dull.

At times, Kiku thinks Arthur is an awfully fractured thing. Like he was a mirror someone had dropped and now Arthur can’t help but have a skewed viewpoint as a result.

“I’m worried about you.”

Arthur blinks, and glances back at him from under his brow. Kiku fights the urge to kiss him again.

“I won the fight. You don’t need to worry.”

“That’s not…” Kiku trails off, but he’s sort of tired repeating himself. “Stop fighting.”

“What?”

“From now on, you should just stop fighting. I hate to see this.”

Arthur frowns. “Stop telling me what to do.”

In brief times, Kiku is also reminded of how frustratingly simple Arthur can be. He applies pressure on the ice pack, and Arthur flinches.

“Someone has to. It’s stupid and you know it.”

“That’s cold!”

“Arthur. Promise me.”

Kiku will never tell Arthur this, but he wonders if he’d rather have a softer person. If he would like someone more gentle then Kiku. Kiku can’t bring himself to be gentle, it’s just not in his nature. He’s always been selfish and he’ll probably be like this for the rest of his life. He’s never learned how to cushion his words. Although he can be polite, when he truly means something it comes out blunt as a result.

He worries about Arthur, but sometimes he flinches at his own words after he says them. At times he thinks _I should have said that more softly._ Or _If I keep this up, he’ll probably run away._ Kiku won’t show Arthur this, because again, this wasn’t about his own insecurities. But to be honest, there is still that love in him that is worried about the future, despite knowing this is the best way he can say it. So even now he finds himself again, flinching at his own words but hoping they come through. He’s scolding him because he needs to be scolded, but he doesn’t know how to rightly approach it.

Arthur looks down again, looking at the floor. Kiku eases his hold on the ice pack.

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur looks at him surprised. Kiku can still read a situation. Arthur’s the easiest read he’s ever encountered. He takes away the ice pack and the swelling has gone down some, but the bruise is still there.

“I shouldn’t scold you right now.” Kiku confesses, “That’s unfair of me.”

It surprises Kiku, the expression that Arthur makes. The mood of the room has taken a sharp turn, but Arthur takes him off guard by switching to worry.

“Wh-what the hell is this? When have _you_ ever said sorry?”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Look, I…” Arthur furrows his brows, “Look, you don’t need to be sorry. I’m the one who got myself into this. You’re just worried. I…”

Arthur wears his emotions well, and he’s doing it now. He scratches the back of his head, and sighs.

“I won’t do it anymore okay? I won’t get into any more trouble.”

Kiku raises his eyebrows in shock. He was expecting a longer fight then this, a long drawn out talk of the same push-and-pull dynamic they’ve had until then. But why was he underestimating Arthur like that? Of course he takes the honorable way. More so, he’s concerned. He’s also still blunt.

“You gave in easily.” He points out.

“Don’t complain. You’re the one who was crying about it.”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“You looked like you wanted to.” Arthur tells him, and Kiku wonders why he didn’t notice, how Arthur keeps seeing things he can’t, “And I can’t stand you looking like that.”

It’s rare when Arthur is honest. So these moments are more precious as a result, and Kiku feels his heart swell. If anyone wasn’t being fair, it was him. But he was hearing him and that was enough. Kiku looks down at the ice pack in his hand, and the cold of it stings his palm. Arthur is watching him with a sincere intensity, and the atmosphere of the room feels warm, they feel so close. Kiku’s riding a good mood, so he doesn’t think twice on it. He looks back up, his face stoic again.

“I’m staying over tonight.”

Arthur blinks.

“ _What_?”

“I’m staying over tonight.” Kiku repeats again, and goes to empty the pack, “I bet you haven’t been eating well. And I need to make sure you do that homework. I’ll just sleep over.”

“Wha-” Arthur straggles behind him again, “You can’t just decide that!”

“I just did.”

“But what about Yao?”

Kiku looks up, as if he was also remembering this. He pulls out his phone, and types something.

“I’ll tell him I’m staying over at Feliciano’s,” he types some more, “and I’ll tell Feliciano to cover for me.”

Arthur watches aghast as he does this. He’s at a loss for words, but when has he ever had control of the situation?

“That’s...wrong.” He says flatly, in an effort to fight against it somehow. Kiku looks over his shoulder at him, and just smiles. He’s wordlessly reminding him that this is how he wanted to be in the first place.

Arthur should have known that Kiku’s weak mood wouldn’t have lasted long. That he would have just easily slipped back into their usual routine. He barrels ahead with his decision like this, and Arthur has to keep up. He makes him help with dinner, and he tries to make a meal out of whatever Arthur has in his fridge. Of course he scolds him on what he keeps in the house. He needs more vegetables. He won’t even ask what these leftovers were meant to be. And Arthur rolls his eyes through the whole ordeal, until he notices how loud the kitchen is. At one point he looks up at the cutting board and at Kiku’s concentrated profile. It’s only two people, but the room feels so full.

It’s sort of odd, but so nice, to think of how only two people can fill a space.

The dinner is probably the most delicious thing Arthur has ever eaten at his kitchen table. Kiku is comfortably domestic in how he handled all of it, and Arthur looks at him across the table feeling weakened and on the verge of tears. His eye still aches every time he blinks, but he thinks if every night was like this, he wouldn’t need this pain anymore. Arthur tries to figure out why he’s feeling so damn vulnerable, from just one meal, but then he notices the difference. Tonight, it’s just them. No bell to interrupt them, no brother to walk in, and no excuses or hatred to cloud the mood. Arthur doesn’t need an excuse for him to stay now, because he’s just there and he won’t leave until the morning.

That feels like so much time.

“I,” Arthur begins, “It’s been awhile since someone has cooked for me like this.”

Kiku blinks, and looks up from his food. The mood has shifted. Kiku can sense something has moved in Arthur, from the tone of his voice and how small he holds himself. Beautiful, but fragile. He vaguely remembers Francis’ advice, and wonders if he knew this would happen.

“What do you mean?”

“...You noticed it, right?” Arthur’s voice is shaky, “That it’s just me here?”

Kiku can already see where this is headed, and so he tells himself to be delicate. Tread carefully. Listen well and don’t ignore this. It’s so, so rare that Arthur shares himself, and so Kiku wouldn’t treat those offerings lightly.

Which is good, because right now, Arthur feels so many things yelling at him to stop here. That self-preservation meant keeping things to himself. That past trauma was just giving Kiku a weak spot to exploit. That he shouldn’t trust someone just because they made him dinner and spoiled him with affection. And honestly, Arthur doesn’t know better. They’ve only known each other for so many months. How can he trust someone like that? Arthur can’t predict the future, but life has taught him that pain is certain. He shouldn’t take this leap of faith.

But he wants to. He really, really wants to.

“...My parents are divorced.” Arthur explains, “It’s just me and my dad, but he’s always away at work.”

Kiku leans back in his chair. Arthur probably doesn’t know it, but he’s hunched over now, like he’s protecting himself. Kiku decides to help him along.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t know. Last year? Ever since mom left, he tries to stay away.” Arthur looks away, and his voice is distant. Kiku follows Arthur’s line of sight to where he was looking. The patch on the wall. The realization dawns on Kiku and that worry squeezes his chest again.

“...You don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.”

Arthur blinks back into focus. He looks down.

“I want to. I want to tell you this.”

Kiku’s heart is in pain at the image of Arthur like this, and it’s all falling into place. All the blank spaces of Arthur’s characters, the mysteries, were all making sense. Of course it wasn’t fair, but now he knows his reasons. Kiku has always sensed that Arthur was being bullied rather than hurting others. He just didn’t know that pain had started here.

“It’s weird, you know? Being ignored. I kept thinking that was good seeing how they could get. But then I…” He trails off, his voice still hollow, “...I just started to feel like I deserved it. Like that’s how they’d get mad at me.”

Arthur winces then, and puts a hand on his forehead.

“God, why _am_ I telling you this?” He says mostly to himself, “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“You must have been very lonely here.”

“I...I didn’t tell you because of that…”

He looks like he’s about to cry. Kiku leans forward.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Kiku tells him calmly, and Arthur’s shoulders start to shake, “That was unfair to you.”

It’s ridiculously simple. It’s just pointing out the obvious, but it’s so different when someone else notices. Arthur feels tears prick the edge of his eyes, but he feels like maybe it’s okay to cry. That endless lonely nights were being made up for now, and he was being overwhelmed by its warmth. It’s been so long since he could tell someone this.

“Well,” Kiku says across from him, “I’ll be honest with you; I can’t promise forever. But for the time being, I can promise you I’ll be here. I’ll stay here, so you won’t be lonely.”

It doesn’t make sense. For a few words and a promise to make him cry like this. And it’s such an unadorned promise with a simple premise. But Arthur has been fighting for so long, has been alone for so long, and so it’s so nice for someone to see him, finally. To reach out, without something fake and pretty and to just tell him plainly what he needed and what will be given. He can accept that. And more importantly, he wants it to be him.

Kiku chuckles softly, and it sounds so kind.

“I’m sorry. I made you cry.”

“Idiot.” Arthur manages to say, but he’s lacking his usual bite. “Saying sappy stuff like that. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“I suppose I should be embarrassed, shouldn’t I?” Kiku muses, “But I love you, so I’m not.”

Arthur feels a chill run up his spine. It’s been awhile since Kiku reminded him of his feelings, but it comes back with full force. He looks up, and he has to remember that this person sitting across from him (this person who has promised him so much) is someone in love with him. He blushes. Arthur is slow to catch the mood, but he finally sees it. They’re alone. He hasn’t answered him yet. He had bared his soul to him, felt Kiku accept that nonetheless, and now there is a silence between them. He had started a momentum but he’s only now seeing it. Arthur feels vulnerable there, but still, he’s not scared.

“How do you feel?” Kiku asks.

“...Tired, mostly.”

Arthur’s waiting to see where Kiku will go with this, if he’ll mention his feelings again or ask for Arthur’s. He’s apprehensive to any more talk, to a serious discussion. Just because he’s ready doesn’t mean he’s not nervous. Kiku looks up, and looks at the clock on the kitchen wall.

“That’s good timing then. I’m going to take a shower.”

Arthur goes red.

“Wh-What?” He sputters.

“If I’m staying over then I’m going to take a shower before bed.” Kiku announces, cool as ever, as if they hadn’t just gone through such a discussion. He’s sort of infuriating like that. “I can borrow some of your clothes, right?”

Arthur tries to think of something to say. He keeps throwing him around like this.

“Be serious!”

“I am. I’ll clean them afterwards.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

Kiku gets up and the chair scraps against the kitchen floor. Arthur startles at the sound, but he doesn’t know why he’s feeling so jumpy. Kiku looks down at him, and Arthur is reminded again about how dark his eyes are, and his reflection in them. He never does any of this the right way, Arthur thinks. He’s being either vague about this or rushing things entirely without grace. He wants to yell at him for that, but this time it’s not the fear of commitment that holds him back. It’s the shyness.

“I’ll put up the dinner. You should start on your homework.”

Kiku does answer him somewhat; he asks Arthur later if there’s a guest room he can sleep in. Arthur is sort of relieved that he cleared the air, but he’s still unbearably aware of the tension. Alone. They’re all alone, with no one to interrupt them.

These thoughts spin around Arthur’s head as he attempts to do his homework in his room, as the sound of the shower feels so heavy despite being down the hall. Arthur gets mad at himself; is he the only one noticing this? Is Kiku planning something? No, it’s probably just Arthur, letting his imagination run with himself. He’s so damn vulnerable tonight. Now he’s getting all worked up from just being with Kiku alone, after opening up himself.

He still doesn’t know his feelings for him. Love was still difficult to comprehend. All he knows is that he wants Kiku there, that he doesn’t want him to leave. Kiku is promising him this too, beyond just the idea of friendship. He knows of Arthur’s pain, and he wants to fill that space for him. That must mean something. Arthur is so charmed by this, he’s giving in so much. He puts a hand tenderly against the bruise under his eye. It wouldn’t be right, he thinks, if anything happened while he looked like this. Maybe this would scare him off. Maybe this will make Kiku think twice if something does happen.

They kept doing this all wrong. Arthur was all wrong for this. Kiku deserves better than this.

“Arthur.”

Arthur startles in surprise and looks back. Kiku is peeking in from his doorway. He was so lost in thought he hadn’t heard the shower be turned off. His eyes travel down and he gets mortified at the image of Kiku in his clothes.

“Can’t you knock?”

“I was going to tell you the shower is ready.” Kiku tells him plainly, “I wanted to check if you were actually doing your work as well.”

Arthur is about to shoot back another complaint, to keep up there well-worn rhythm, until he looks up and sees the towel around Kiku’s neck, and his still wet hair. He gets up.

“Who are you to tell me that?” He chides and begins to dry Kiku’s hair for him. “When you do this? You’re going to catch a cold.”

Kiku scowls as Arthur roughly rubs the towel against his head. It’s satisfying when he can get Kiku to show emotions like this, when he can get him to show some kind of weakness. It’s nice revenge for all the times he leads Arthur around.

“I can dry it myself.” Kiku mutters. Arthur smirks.

“Really? You did a poor job as is.”

“It hurts.”

“Don’t be a baby, you’re fine.”

Kiku glares at him darkly, but Arthur ignores this. His eyes are still catching on his clothes. They’re both strangely familiar but different looking when worn by someone else. He recognizes them, but they look new on Kiku’s frame.

“You’re short for an upperclassman.” Arthur says out loud, “Have I told you that yet?”

“Don’t be rude.” Kiku says again, but this time it sounds colder. Arthur vaguely wonders if it’s a sore spot. The air is comfortable enough for him to not be put off by it. When they’re teasing each other like this, it’s like there wasn’t any tension to begin with.

“My clothes are too big for you.”

“I noticed.”

Arthur pauses. He does think twice on saying this. But he thinks of the span of time they’ve known each other, all the lack of pressure he’s so used to. There’s no voice to tell him not to do it. There’s no worry about what’s to come next.

“...It doesn’t look bad, though.” Arthur tells him, “They look good on you.”

He feels the weight of his own words after he says them, a shot being fired in the tentative atmosphere between them. Arthur is still drying Kiku’s hair, but Kiku looks up at him. His face is shadowed by the towel, and his eyes are dark with a different emotion.

“...That’s a careless thing to say.” Kiku mutters. Arthur feels his heart squeeze. This might be a warning, but he doesn’t care.

“...I’m just saying I like it.”

Arthur mistakenly thinks he’s going to kiss him then, but then he feels Kiku grab his wrists with a strength he didn’t know he had.

He pushes him forward, shoving him, and Arthur nearly trips with the strength he’s forcing against him. He feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he falls, cushioned by the sheets. Arthur’s heart goes wild at the image of Kiku above him. His face is serious, still shadowed by the towel, and he still holds down Arthur’s wrists. Water drips from his hair onto the bed sheets next to Arthur’s head.

Arthur had been expecting something, but not this.

“You can’t just say something like that and not expect anything to happen.” Kiku warns him, and his voice is low, a bare whisper. Arthur can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and he gulps. He feels like he’ll break any second and Kiku will see everything inside.

“I…” Arthur looks away. He doesn’t have excuses. He feels breath on his neck, and gasps.

“You know I like you.” Kiku whispers, and Arthur feels the breadth of it fill him up. “So you can’t say things like that lightly.”

Arthur is so used to Kiku’s assertive nature only kept to his words and so seeing Kiku with action is making him dizzy. He’s cautioning him, but it also feels like this was meant to happen. And it’s not that Arthur hates it, it’s not that he’s surprised. It’s just that he’s so inexperienced so he’s easily overwhelmed by the act of it. He feels acutely sensitive to all of this, painfully unlearned, but also desperately curious.

“I know.” Arthur wills himself to say, “I know that.”

Arthur can feel Kiku’s lips on his neck when he says this. He slips his hands from around his wrists and slips them into Arthur’s palms, interlaces his fingers against his. Arthur’s knees are shaking.

“You can push me away.” Kiku offers him, “If you don’t want this then tell me. But if you want me to stay then tell me, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath is shuddering, his chest feels tight. Options. He always gives him options, doesn’t he? Always waiting for him patiently. And Arthur kept thinking of excuses for them, when he should have just been honest from the start. He turns his head, and Kiku’s watching him like a hungry beast.

“Stay,” He finally says, “Don’t go.”

The kiss feels natural. Arthur remembers to close his eyes this time.

He wants to apologize for the black eye. He hopes Kiku doesn’t mind. He wants to promise him that the next time they do this, that he’ll look better. But his words die in his mouth, and Kiku fills his head with more pressing thoughts then that. It’s not that Kiku seems to mind anyway, and they fall into each other like they were always meant to be here, like it was only a matter of time. Arthur feels complete. He feels full. Burying his face into Kiku’s shoulder, he wonders if he deserves such beautiful things.

He could probably stress if such a thing should be enjoyed. If he should allow himself to be happy for this.

Or (he decides) for once he could just be happy.

* * *

Arthur was waiting for his happiness to end that night. That it would just be a once in a lifetime sort of thing. But he was surprised to find that his good mood followed him afterwards and hasn’t left him since.

Dating Kiku wasn’t any different from how they usually were. They still bantered, and Kiku still persistently scolded him. Even the morning after that night, Kiku had woken Arthur up soothingly, but still told him that he had work to finish. But Arthur found he could be more unabashed in his affections, and Kiku was equally forceful but about different matters. He’s lost count of how many times Kiku has kissed him during their lunch dates, mostly without warning and without question. It was always startling, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. They weren’t sappy, but it also felt like finally, they didn’t have to hide anything. Didn’t have to hold back.

“You’re whistling again.”

Arthur stopped, feeling embarrassed. He frowns at Francis, who blew out another puff of smoke. He’s texting someone with his other hand, and Arthur doesn’t try to see who it is.

“I was not.”

“Did something good happen?” Francis asks with half-attention. He smiles at something on the screen.

“It’s none of your business.”

They’re behind the school again, and Arthur’s wondering if he should go back to class. It was annoying there, but it was starting to get boring out here. Francis looks up at him.

“You’re not smoking.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Francis dangles his cigarette between his fingers and studies him. Arthur’s temper gets the better of him. It’s not like love would change that aspect of him anyway.

“What? Spit it out, it’s creepy when you look at me like that.”

“Congratulations.” Francis tells him flatly. Arthur frowns.

“For what?”

“Graduating.”

Francis dodges Arthur’s hit and laughs at him. Arthur endures all the suffering jokes until he can finally manage to get kick Francis. None of it helps the blood that’s rushed to his face.

If anything did change, it was Arthur’s home. For the first month of them being together, his house was still empty, too big, incredibly lonely. But then Kiku asked if he could come over for a quiet place to study. Arthur didn’t mind; he’d take anything so as to avoid the silence at night. And it was nice to have him there, but he kept coming over. Arthur wonders if he’s fallen in another of Kiku’s schemes, an excuse to be near him at all hours. To almost live with him. Occasionally he would stay the night and those were Arthur’s favorites. Not because of what they would get up to, but more so the idea that he wasn’t the only one living here. He would get lost in those thoughts, hearing the clattering of laptop keys in the evening, or lying there in bed next to Kiku: the idea of two people filling a home, making their space, sharing something, together.

It was intensely embarrassing of course. But lately, he’s started giving into those silly thoughts more and more.

That’s not to say Arthur’s better.

He’s still plagued with the same anxieties, he just has better proof to disprove them. But they still came too, in the dead of the night. This is temporary. He’s going to realize he can do better. He’s going to see you for what you really are and leave. He knows all about the dangers of a honeymoon period and he knows it’s eventual ends. He’s just biding his time until the downfall comes. And it will; it always does. Arthur doesn’t confide these thoughts with Kiku, because he already knows his answers. Steadfast, selfish, reliable, but predictable. Arthur thinks it’s pathetic to keep relying on him like that. That feeding Kiku his worries will just make his departure come sooner.

Every night he worries if he can have another one after this.

He worries he’ll always be this person. That he’ll lash out again. That there are scars on his soul that won’t be healed no matter how much he is nurtured. But he promised Kiku he would try so he won’t say anything. He does, at least, stop fighting. Eventually his hands look normal again, and Arthur hopes that if the body can heal itself, then maybe the mind can too.

Lost in these thoughts, and in their romance, Arthur almost forgot they had a deadline.

It’s spring when life comes for him again. He’s on the way to the infirmary. He’s been going to classes more often, actually applying himself for once. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s whistling it again. Some song that Kiku had texted him the other day, catchy and light. He sees the infirmary door open a crack, the barest sliver of light falling through. He blinks, and stops whistling. He can hear voices. He wonders if there are other students in there today. He guesses the roof was fine for today, but it was so windy.

Then he hears the inflection of it. A voice he knows well.

Arthur approaches tentatively until he can hear them. Yao and Kiku.

“...know there’s no use to it. But I thought it would be better to tell you. You need to take these things seriously.”

“I am.” Kiku says firmly. “I am taking it seriously.”

“Are you? Look, I don’t know where you’re going every night, but you need to stop playing around.”

“I’m studying.”

Yao sighs heavily, and Arthur can hear the creak of his office chair. Arthur is lost on what they could be talking about. Kiku doesn’t keep secrets from him. Or does he? He should go in and demand answers, but Arthur was a coward before he was a fighter. He stays where he is, listening in.

“Well, have you at least thought about where you’re going to go?”

Arthur blinks. The realization dawns on him slowly and painfully.

“I have a few colleges picked out.” Kiku tells him, “It’s alright. I can take care of this.”

“You always tell me that.”

“And I always take care of it, don’t I?”

Arthur feels the color drain from his face. Like someone punched him in the gut. He looks out the window, to the wind tossing around the blooming trees. How could he forget? Of course; they’ve always had only a few months. Kiku was a year older then him. What had he been expecting from the start?

Arthur walks past the infirmary. There was no need to confront anyone. He always knew this would happen, just not this way. He should have been tipped off with how much Kiku had been studying. He should have recognized it earlier. He feels so incredibly stupid, so caught up in his own emotions. His self-hatred comes back to him like a beloved friend and he cycles through the same malicious thoughts. That all his paranoia was being proven right. Why hadn’t Kiku mentioned this to him? He should have brought this up. No, no, Arthur thinks. He shouldn’t be asking for such a thing.

After all, he knew in the beginning, that Kiku deserved better anyway. That he was just a punk, a broken kid, to pass the time with. Arthur is boiling with these thoughts, returning to his old ways, and it hurts. He wants to ask for better, but he’s hating himself and calling that realism.

For the next few weeks, he’s cruel.

* * *

He's not always going to be around. Arthur tells himself this about a lot of people. In those suffocating moments alone, when there's no one to help but his own tenacity and hate he tells himself 'they're not always going to be around'. When even the teachers don't hide how they've given up on him, he tells himself, with some sense of justice and pride 'you won't always be around'. For Arthur, it's the idea that things are temporary that keep him going. That things aren't always going to be so bad. That, most importantly, all the horrible people in this world will eventually die.

But that didn't mean Kiku as well. Kiku was supposed to be a constant. But even Arthur had been too thankful to forget that time takes even that from him.

It's spring. The day of graduation was closer to him, sooner than he expected. It's just the natural cycle of things going on and he had missed it. Or perhaps, one could say he willfully forgot it.

Him and Kiku were an odd pair who didn't talk about the future. It's probably because they're young and you don't do those sorts of things in young relationships. They had their ups and downs. Arthur feels like it's mostly Kiku doing a lot of clean up after him, but this is where Kiku says that's not what this is at all. They're still getting the hang of things. Arthur's still learning love, and Kiku is learning patience. One could say it's all morbidly dependent, but honestly, they've dipped into those areas and they've come out again. They have chemistry. They're forming a bond.

But things are always temporary for Arthur.

They haven't fought. They've gotten close to the battle ground but never really approached it. Sometimes the conversations are curt. More often then not, Arthur makes snide and biting comments about what Kiku is going to do after he graduates. About how he's going to have to go through senior year without him. He's trying to bring up the topic, but Arthur's awkward with words. He's had hate beaten into him, so he ends up miscommunicating what he says and just comes off as being a prat. Arthur _thinks_ Kiku can decipher this, because he's not punching him in the jaw right there. But he's also avoiding the topic, so he's still not sure where they stand.

In an effort to distract himself, or perhaps to express himself, Arthur gets more mouthy. Which is what led them here, again, in the infirmary. Arthur is watching the setting sun outside the window, hunched over the bed. His cheek stings and his fists are still on fire. Arthur's used to pain at this point, and he doesn't remember a time where he wasn't fighting for one reason or another. Kiku is busying himself with the first aid kit, some shuffling of supplies and tinkling of glasses filling the space between them. Arthur wonders what clubs are still on campus. He wonders if the punk he socked in the eye is regretting anything. He's blatantly ignoring Kiku's presence until Kiku grabs him roughly by the arm and applies rubbing alcohol to a scrape on his bicep. Arthur hisses in pain.

"You said," Kiku mutters, "you wouldn't get into anymore trouble." His tone is steadfast and serious. He's mad. Arthur's known him long enough to tell when Kiku is mad. But this time, Arthur doesn't feel like being scolded. This time, Arthur will be a defiant mess even to the one he loves because he doesn't know what else to do with himself.

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” Arthur grimaces and tries to pull away, but Kiku’s hold becomes more firm. Arthur never imagined Kiku to be this strong. Was it because of the circumstance? Kiku takes off the cotton ball and inspects his work. Satisfied, he applies more to Arthur’s bleeding knuckles. This time, Arthur holds back any response.

“You were doing well until now.” Kiku replies, “What happened?”

“They started it.”

“Not that. You know what I mean.”

Arthur glares at him. The fact that Kiku was acknowledging what he had been avoiding before irritates him. The fact that Kiku wants to bring it up now, angers him even. It’s not fair, and Arthur’s ashamed to be in this position. He doesn’t like giving Kiku the idea that he effected him this much, because Arthur doesn’t like giving anybody that courtesy. Also, frankly, Arthur’s heartbroken. So he lashes out.

“What do you care?” He spits, “In a few months this all will be behind you anyway.”

And there it is. The topic they had been dancing around surfaces, and there is no running from it anymore. Kiku stops. Arthur tries not to notice how gentle his hold on his hand is. He tries not to think of the million other times he’s held his hand. Kiku glances up, and his expression is blank again, a hard read.

“Is that what this is about?” He whispers. Arthur’s blood boils. He wanted a reaction. He wanted an apology. He wanted Kiku to get just as worked up as he does because then he knows he feels something.

“What else would it be about?”

Kiku blinks. Still no response.

“Are you worried?”

Arthur wants screaming. Arthur wants accusations and anger. Arthur wants cruelty. For god’s sake, he wants _something_. But just as always, to Arthur’s anger, Kiku is a frustrating calm. And although he knows this is the mature thing to do, Arthur is feeling petty enough to want just a moment of immaturity. Stupidity. Something to show that even this was shaking Kiku to his core.

“Is that all you have to say?” Arthur asks incredulous, “After all these months, that’s all you have to say?”

Kiku doesn’t respond. He hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? To be left,” he scrambles, “to be left _hanging_ like this?”

“I’m sorry.” Kiku replies calmly, “I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

Arthur’s right hand does not twitch. While usually his first response to anything that threatened him was violence, for Kiku it’s different. Instead, Arthur feels tears forming. For Kiku, his first response is to cry, and Arthur is incredibly ashamed of this. He bows his head. There are a lot of things he could scream, but instead he blurts out the first honest thought he has.

“If you wanted to break up you should’ve done it sooner. Just _tell me_ it’s not working out.”

There’s a moment of silence. The clock ticks on from the wall and the hallways are silent. Arthur is waiting with dread and a feeling of finality. It was always going to be this way. Everything for Arthur is temporary.

“...Why do you think I want to break up?”

Arthur’s face flushes with shame. He chokes up. He’s trying to hold back the tears and failing miserably. He wonders when Kiku had become such a sadist as to force him into this position.

“God, why not? Look when you graduate, this will all be in the past. I’ll be a pet project you’ll regret. Just...you don’t want me after this, Kiku. There’s so much more out there for you.”

Arthur won’t meet his gaze, but he focuses on their hands. Arthur’s are calloused and bruised and bloody. Kiku’s are pristine and careful in comparison. It’s amazing what you can tell from a person by just their hands, Arthur thinks. They’re just so different.

“So you don’t think I can handle you?”

“I’m not a good investment.” Arthur scoffs. He sort of laughs, and what’s there is crushingly bitter. There is a lot of truth to Arthur’s words despite the fact that it’s poisoned with a generous dose of self-loathing. These years haven’t been kind to him, and his heart may never recover. Arthur will probably be a paranoid mess for the rest of his life. If even there is a chance for redemption, these are just years that Arthur will carry with himself forever. Arthur knows this. He’s not stupid, and it’s this brutal honesty that hurts him the most.

Kiku won’t let go. In fact, he continues to take care of his wounds. Arthur feels too numb to get annoyed at this. He just let it happens. Kiku carefully wraps bandages around his left hand and won’t meet his gaze.

“Do you want to know my plan for the future?” Kiku whispers. Arthur blinks. He realizes he’s already begun crying.

“Who cares.” He says hoarsely. Kiku ignores this.

“I’ll go to a college in the city.” he lists off, “I’ll get an apartment. If I have enough time, I may get a part time job. I’m still not sure.”

Arthur feels hollow, but there’s something calming in hearing Kiku talk about this. He wants him to keep going. Perhaps, despite himself, Arthur really does want a good future for him.

“I think...I think I may study medicine.” Kiku muses, “I’m still not sure on this either. I’d like to get a stable job, however. I’ve thought about this for a long time. These are the things I’ve decided.”

Arthur has gotten too lost in his voice to realize Kiku finished tying the bandage. He’s shocked out of it when Kiku brings Arthur’s hand to his own cheek. He leans his face against his palm, and when Arthur finally looks at him, he sees Kiku blushing. Vulnerable.

“But I think what I want most of all,” he confesses, “Is to marry you.”

Arthur’s heart stops. The whole world stops. His lip quivers and the tears come spilling out.

“Don’t...don’t screw with me.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t.”

“But I want to.”

Arthur’s choking up. His head is spinning. He’s overcome with joy but also questioning it. Everything is supposed to be temporary. That’s just how it is.

“It’s...it’s not fair to joke like this. It’s cruel.”

“I’m not joking.”

He meets his gaze. Kiku’s embarrassed but he looks determined. He looks at Arthur straight on. His eyes are unfaltering, and Arthur feels like he’s looking right through him. It’s all too much.

“It’ll end badly. It’ll end really badly.”

Arthur’s waiting for Kiku to say something sappy and romantic and breathtaking. Something fake and staged. Something people say in movies all the time. But it’s Kiku’s honesty and grounded personality that Arthur appreciates. That gets him to trust him each time.

“It might and it might not.” Kiku replies, “But even if it does, why not try it out? If I can give you some kind of happiness for even a few years...I’d be willing to try it.”

There are more excuses hiding in Arthur’s psyche, but he can barely remember them now. The idea of forever was too impeding for Arthur, but a few years seemed reasonable. Things are temporary, he knows. But the idea of temporary is subjective; how long is ‘temporary’ anyway? As long as it’s not forever, then it makes sense. And if he could just keep giving them that same allotment of time, until it just coincidentally stretched onto forever?

Well then. Well then Arthur just might be able to believe it.

Arthur, the continued fool who is unable to manage his own emotions, doesn’t accept this offer graciously. Instead he breaks out into ugly tears and nods fast; overwhelmed and happy. He should probably say something, Arthur thinks, but instead he finds his body reacting on its own. He embraces him. His body is still aching, but Kiku laughs in his ear, and it all slips away. Kiku confesses he had wanted to give him a ring when he graduated. He apologizes for leaving them like that. He apologizes for a lot of things. But Arthur shuts him up with passionate kisses and soon nothing has to be said anymore.

This world has been cruel to him. Things might be even crueler still. But for once, Arthur is thinking about his future.

It’s been a very long time since Arthur has thought about his future.


End file.
